


Where Broken Paths Collide

by thejollypirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Assassination, Crime, Death, Drama, F/M, Feels, Humor, Smut, assassin!killian, thief!emma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-09 09:43:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 88,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3245012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejollypirate/pseuds/thejollypirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma feels the thrill in stealing, as her job is to be a thief and survive with her captures. But, when she unintentionally walks into someone getting murdered, can she manage to bargain with the assassin so she can survive? Perhaps she can, but there’s more to it than that. There’s always complications, and maybe feelings are one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The thrill of being a thief flowing through her blood makes her ecstatic. Growing up on the streets, never apart of a gang of friends or strangers, only the lone wolf. Lurking through the darkness is the only thing she does. She can be quite the nocturnal woman, but she doesn’t need to steal behind the shadows on the streets. Perhaps it is merely the luck she has, but she’s swift on her feet, she’s silent, and has always been alert.

No one understands her, no one knows herself better than she does- that is a fact. Emma Swan doesn’t need to hide behind garbage cans, she doesn’t need to wait for a idle police car to drive by. She can pounce like a cougar, yet be as delicate as a bunny. In fact, no one knows she’s a thief and no one knows her crimes. She doesn’t leave traces behind, and if she does, she manages to lead police to dead ends, which help her stay incognito. She’s a mastermind when it comes to stealing, and years of her experience can prove likewise.

However, though she is a perfectly surviving thief who lives off stolen valuables and nourishments, she has had her fair share of the bad as well. For one thing, she’s always lonely, no matter what she does, no matter where she is. There is never a person there for her to speak to, not a single person to consult if she’s struggling with something in her life. Abandoned on the side of the road, perhaps this life was meant for her, perhaps it _is_ her life.

She’s insecure about her ability to trust others, to believe, to ever be committed into anything else except her love for stealing. Emma Swan does not engage in conversations, not unless it is completely necessary for her. But, then again, she is quite confident in her abilities, she’s also quite the tricker. The blonde haired woman looks timid, but beneath her is a sheath of strength. And, though as much as she is strong, powerful, and quick, it doesn’t make up for the fact she hates death. She hates the thought of killing someone, and she most definitely hates it more if she has to be the one doing it herself. Not exactly something she fancies, and it’s most probable she will never like it. Seeing the glistening, crimson coloured blood engraving itself into the pavement floor, or the screech or cry a human makes in pain- never would she ever kill, nor does she ever plan to.

But, no matter is that, Emma Swan _needs_ to be successful with this next raid of hers. It’s past midnight, the lights in the neighbourhood are all shut off, and she’s behind a large bush peeking toward her intended house. The driveway holds a red Mercedes-Benz, definitely her target residence there. As quiet as she can, she makes her way past the driveway through the backyard. The thing is, this white, grand mansion seems to have far less security than she thought. It’s not exactly swarmed by bodyguards, or cameras placed in every crook and cranny.

If her plans and observations weren’t wrong, there is a window just about where she could reach and climb in through. Conveniently, it’s open, which is quite an intriguing way to welcome a guest if you’re expecting someone to burst into the bedroom.

Emma carefully scales the pipe on the side of the white house, being cautious about her surroundings. The cool breeze blows past her, making her shiver and nearly lose balance. She keeps her cool, and by the time she reaches the window, she jumps through it quietly. 

But, the sight to behold isn’t exactly _welcoming._ Blood is splattered across the glossy, wooden floors, the large rug under a couch stained, and damn, the reeking stench in the room isn’t one to enjoy. 

Before she can take any more steps, she is stopped in her tracks. “Stop right there,” a low man’s voice claims, and Emma glances to the right to see a man dressed in all black pointing a gun at her- pistol to be exact. For one, he is _definitely_ not American. And two, a silencer. Of course.

Her first reaction? Run. But where? She can’t exactly leap out the window without risking a broken ankle, and two, he has a gun in his hands.

She puts her hands up in defeat, though she has a plan in mind which could possibly throw him off. “You got me,” she mutters, swallowing away the fear. The smell is not helping, because by all means, she wants to gag. And, well, the sight of the red blood isn’t one to not notice either.

“Who are you?” he demands, slowly approaching her with the gun still pointing... well, at her head.

She chuckles, seemingly like a maniac of course. “A thief! That’s who I am. Now, I am not here to cause any trouble, only here to grab and go,” she says, trying to keep the unwavering confidence stable in her voice.

“Don’t play with me, lass, as you can tell I’m not here to listen to any pleas of mercy. Now, what exactly interests you here? Money? Jewlery? All the luxurious items? Surely what a thief desires, right?” he retorts, waving the gun around while he lists each thing. He holds a point though, that is _exactly_ what she targets.

“You have that correct. I think you’ve asked enough questions, it’s my turn now.” Emma takes a breath in, pulling her old scarf up. “What exactly is your purpose?” she responds, cocking her head to the side.

“A mere assassin doing his duty,” he plainly answers, raising his eyebrows at her.

Now, for one, she could barely see him early in the darkness, but his slow approach brings his face into the illuminating moonlight. His eyes are a stunning shade of blue, but the rest of his face is covered by a black cloth. Something is interesting about him, and there’s definitely more than a cold stare of blue eyes and emotionless tone in his voice.

Emma sighs and looks past him. “I can see that. Now, it would be nice if I could just-” She stops mid-way and slips around him, hearing the squeaking of her shoes as she sprints past the blood, through the wooden door and slamming it.

“Get back here!”

He’s yelling something like that, but it doesn’t register in her mind, not while she’s escaping for her life. She’s not going to die because of him, not because of her own faults, she’s going to live, run, and be as free as she wants to be.

There’s a large spiral of stairs which she manages to travel down, leading her down to the front door. Escaping out the front door isn’t very subtle, but going out the back isn’t a very clever plan either. Torn between two options, it doesn’t matter because as she spins on her heels, she runs into the man and falls back. Before she manages to stand up, he gets a grasp on her worn, dirty jacket, and pushes her against the nearest wall he could find.

He’s laughing at her, and the first thing she notices is his change of weapons. He rips the scarf off her- no longer using a gun, he’s holding a dagger right at the edge of her throat. “Escaping me isn’t easy, love, I’m afraid I can’t let you do that so simply,” he says, his breath hot against her face through the fabric he wears. “I could have let you leave if you didn’t run, but now that I know you pose a threat to the little scene you saw up there, I believe you are in a much more problematic situation now,” he whispers, pushing the cold knife up against her throat.

“Wait, wait, wait!” she quickly says. “What if I propose a deal that benefits the both of us?”

She knows it’s a risk, she knows she could die in his hands, she knows she can’t run this time around. But, if her suggestions works, it can let her keep living.

He sighs. “Keep talking,” he mutters, pushing her further up the wall.

“What if- if you just let me take what I need after your murders which you don’t need, and then I keep your secrets safe? No one will know, I won’t go to the police, and I get what I need to live,” she offers, squinting her eyes at the sudden stiffness of her neck. “I’m sure we can compromise, can’t we?”

“And why should I _trust_ you?”

“Have I given you a reason to not trust me?” she counters, licking her lips to keep the moisture alive. Any sudden movement would result in her death, and that’s the last thing she’s aiming for.

He chuckles, letting her slide down a little bit against the wall, but her feet aren’t touching the floor yet. “Considering the previous event of you escaping, can you blame me for being uncertain?”

“Okay, sorry, I know it was a shitty move on my part, I just want to survive,” Emma begins, “and considering I _am_ a thief, do you think I would go to the police? It risks my own freedom. I may be a thief, but I am no fool,” she finishes, gritting her teeth by the end of her explanation. 

He’s pressing her harder against the cold, hard wall, and she groans about the pain in her back. He grumbles something along the line of ‘bloody thieves,’ and sets her down, but his hand is still on her jacket. He pushes her back slightly. “You run again, and I won’t be so generous next time.”

There’s something about him that makes her want to run, yet also stay. Something mysterious about the way he works, and now that she’s made a deal with it, she intends to keep her half of it. “I suppose a truce for now is in order, don’t you think?”

He sighs and lets go of her. Emma rubs her throat and picks up her scarf from the floor, wrapping it around her neck. The man is glaring at her with the intent of killing. “Don’t make me regret this, lass,” he mumbles, sticking the dagger into his pocket. “Now, how do you suggest we keep in contact?” he asks, jerking his head to the side.

“You should think about that. Thieves don’t really have a place for meetings, let alone live anywhere for a specified amount of time,” she explains, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m positive you have a place, or landmark that’s familiar where we can meet at midnight?”

Silence breaks through between them, and he’s just standing there, assessing her, which is highly probable, _or_ he’s thinking about their meetings.

“We can head to a bar, my old mate Robin runs it, he can let us use the back,” he proposes, “pray tell you know your way around the streets.”

Emma scoffs at his words. “I’m a thief, I know the streets better than the city itself,” she replies confidently. “Now, I think we have a place to head to.” She starts to walk past him, but he stops her by grabbing her wrist.

“Not so fast there.”

Emma sighs, rolling her eyes and turns to look at him. “What now? A change of mind?”

“With your attitude, it wouldn’t be surprising if I did want to kill you, but I’m letting you live, so listen to me first,” he teases. 

“I’m listening.”

He pulls the fabric covering half of his face down. Oh boy, _he’s too attractive to be an assassin._ “I need a name from you. It would be rather odd for me to not know who I’m conversing with.”

She’s not about to let some assassin get to her- no, definitely not, not with those blue eyes, and the fitting scruff of facial hair. “You can call me by ‘Swan’ for now. Until I gather that both of us trust each other enough, that will be when you learn my full name,” she says, crossing her arms. “What about you?”

“Jones,” he bluntly states. “Killian Jones.”

It’s worth knowing that he already trusts her with his full name. “Well, _Killian_ , let’s go to that bar of your friends. That is… after you clean up the mess you’ve made upstairs,” she mumbles and turns away, leaving him by himself, but she abruptly stops. “I think it’s good for you to know- I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

She hears him chuckle. “Wouldn’t dream of it, love,” he says, his voice fading off through the distance that spreads them apart.

If there’s one thing she knows. She’s frightened by his intimidating endeavors, but then she’s also attracted to his fluctuating personality- expansive knowledge he has too. _The blue eyes, and scruff do not play a role in this_ , she notes.

* * *

Killian cranes his neck before he stretches his arms out, making sure he disposes all evidence possible. Assassin’s are good with coming clean, but today isn’t exactly the case. His target was a lot more defiant, and made his blood boil before his own death. He spoke a couple of words before he died, and Killian didn’t bother listening to him when he shot him- not a single drop of regret fills him, just like he’s used to. So, the least he could do now was clean up everything, not that he would wipe the blood, because that was already stained into the floor. The last thing he needs is blood to be smeared over his hands like the total culprit to the crime.

The horrible odour starts to take over the room, the window partially drains out some of the smell, but it doesn’t do so for very long. He takes his pistol and wipes it over with a cloth, sticking it in the holster on the belt he wears. Good thing he only brought two weapons to do the job, though he only used one, and _could’ve_ used the other on Swan.

Killian is positive there are no ways they can trace the death back to him, considering he never leaves a speck of evidence, nor does the dead body have any sort of trackable evidence on it, so he’s always safe. He knows how to handle this. He’s been in this business for _years_.

But, back to the point, Killian is sure he should have killed her. She’s a witness, a thief, and yet he’s trusting her, and she can take a back hand and slap him across him for being a complete and utter idiot and run off. However, he feels something different about this woman. She has the urge to live, the urge to strive on, so what exactly is keeping him back from slitting her throat and letting her bleed to death?

He pulls his cloth back up, covering mouth and nose, and walks toward the open door. Before he does take his leave, he glances over his shoulder at the open window Swan had entered through. Killian shakes his head from the thoughts, and quickly walks down the stairs to find her waiting outside, leaning against the tall white pillar, the darkness covering half of her body.

She tilts her head backward. “Ready?”

“I’m always ready, Swan.”

“Good, you’ve kept me waiting enough. I would have totally ditched you if you were five seconds later than that,” she mutters, pushing herself off of the pillar. “Now, where is this bar?”

For some reason, he finds himself _smiling._ Without any more lingering, he jogs past her and down the stairs. “Well, have you heard of The Rabbit Hole?”

“Your friend owns that bar?”

He tries not to find too much wrong with that question of hers, and he just nods subtly. “Aye. Now, how are you with a bit of running tonight?”

“A midnight run? Sounds exactly like my job,” she jokes, following behind him.

Only moments ago, he was demanding her for who she was, she was begging for her life, and he was coming oh, _so_ close to killing her.

Now, she’s joking with him, and he’s letting it slip past, letting himself _tolerate_ her sudden change in behaviour. 

The cool breeze tickles his skin as he runs quickly down the sidewalk, and he glances over his shoulder, she’s right behind him. This woman was not the normal one, he could tell. She’s chosen her ways, and it seems like her path is full of struggles, yet she still pushes forward. They make very little small talk as the rush down the streets of bustling streets of nightlife New York.

“You know Swan, I really wonder how you managed to persuade me to not kill you,” he says, opening the door to the bar. “Ladies first.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m not worth the effort,” she supplies, shrugging and she stops. “Wow, you’re a gentleman?”

“I may be an _assassin_ but, I have my own self-pride, and I’m much of a gentleman in my spare time,” he whispers, avoiding any contact with other people besides her. “So, I suggest you take it, or I can kill you the next time we meet,” he threatens, moving his head to the side to tell her to go inside.

She seems unconvinced, but she walks through the door anyways. “Calm down, buddy.”

“I am not your ‘buddy,’ lass, only a mere ally for now,” he retaliates, following behind her. He predicts that the woman can tell he is being dead serious now, because for all he knows, he can’t let her know he’s vulnerable in any way.

Assassin’s don’t feel remorse or regret. They don’t necessarily fall in _love_ , and if he’s sure about one thing, it’s that he holds no feelings toward this Swan in front of him.

“Robin, mate, may we use the back of the bar for uh-” he coughs a little, “business?”

“Is Gold on with you and your shenanigans of… well, you know what I mean- again?” Robin asks, leaning over on the bar counter.

Killian chuckles and nods. “Aye. It’s what I get for being under his command for years. But my apologies, we haven’t had some formal introductions. Swan, Robin. Robin, Swan.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Swan,” Robin greets with a nod and smile. “And yeah, of course. Mind speaking the details with me first though?”

“I shall. Swan, go take a seat somewhere and wait a bit.” He waves his hand off, turns around to face Robin, and before she can say anything, he turns around to face her again. “And no, I won’t keep you waiting for long.”

But, this should be worrying him. He can feel her smirk when he says that, and he can feel the atmosphere lighten up the moment she leaves. Whether it be her adding into this incredible tension between them, or him knowing things that are quite out of the ordinary from knowing someone who is considered a stranger, it really does bother him in the back of his mind.

Killian rests an arm on the counter, his elbow properly positioned on the marble countertop. “We’re going to need the back for meetings for times at midnight, or anytime really for the time being.”

His friend nods, grabbing a bottle of rum and a glass. “What’s in it for her?” Robin pours him a glass and slides it to him.

Killian sighs and chugs the tinted alcohol down. “Valuables, she’s- well as you can tell by her clothes, a _thief_. A bloody swift one as well,” he mutters, glancing over his shoulder to see her tapping her fingers on a table. “Tried escaping me. I nearly killed her, had a bargain. She takes any valuables of her choice after my half is done, and she keeps the secrets from police or anyone else.”

“You know you can’t trust a thief right?”

“I have the very doubts you do, Robin. But, if I’m correct, she’s not that type of person, she intends to keep her promise- doing her side of the deal,” he explains, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Robin sighs, and he looks unsure about all of this stuff his friend has gotten himself into. “And how do you know that?” Killian’s best friend can be quite the bother sometimes with his questions.

“Let’s say it’s my unwavering intuition, and I can read her easily.” He straightens up his posture. “She was begging for her life, I don’t think she would risk it again by ratting me out.”

“Just don’t get into trouble, mate. You had a close one the last time you let someone in that easily,” Robin warns him, bringing up the implication of _her_. “The back door will have an extra key by the dump, like usual. You also have an extra one at your place, right?”

He keeps a straight face, even though he wants to grimace at the one thing his friend _knows_ not to mention. “I do. Thank you however for your help, now, I think it’d be best if I deal with her now. She may be a tough lass, but she is definitely not a patient one, at least not around me.” He turns around and walks toward her, pulling her by the arm with force.

“Someone is hostile,” she proclaims, nearly tripping.

He rolls his eyes at her statement, and drags her into the back room of the bar, making sure to look a little bit subtle at the least. “I’m an assassin, and may I bring to your attention that I never promised to stay civil? A little deal is not going to stop me from being as ruthless as I can be,” he says, letting her go when he flips the light switch on.

They are surrounded by bottles of beer, empty glasses, and a freezer in the corner with ice. 

“I need you to understand one thing, Killian.”

The sudden start of words catches his attention, and his eyes glide up over her body, studying her as she starts to speak her mind.

“I’m not who you think I am. I can be a thief, yes, but I am not a tool. I am not nothing, I am a human. At the least, I expect you to treat me right…” she trails off, before she begins again, “even if it means me having to deal with you being that gentleman.”

Her words hold meaning, and to be honest, he’s not feeling any surprise from what she’s asking from him. It’s only natural he respects her. “Swan, you must know that I may be a killer, but I understand your request. I will treat you as fairly as I possibly can, and if I displease you in any way, there will be a right for you to call me out on it,” he offers. “I pride myself for being honourable, and I shall live up to that and your set expectations for me.”

She nods. “Good.”

“Now that we have that set aside, there are some things in order I’d like to promptly discuss before we head out separate ways.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(this is not replacing my other story, "Fresh Start For Me (and You)" It is merely being held at a stage where I've died on ideas because I forgot to write a lot of them down when I had the chance. back to the drawing board.)_  
>     
> This story is different from my usual, but I love the plot I've set out for it, and I'm much more prepared. But are you prepared? Comment your thoughts please!


	2. Chapter 2

_“Now that we have that set aside, there are some things in order I’d like to promptly discuss before we head out separate ways.”_

Whether it had been the only option for her or not, this is the point in time where she is unable to escape. By all means, she intends to keep her side of the deal done, as long as he does his- and perhaps, maybe that is exactly what they are just about to speak about. Emma Swan isn’t stupid, as much as she did grow up on the streets, avoiding the foster system while being on the run, she’s an intelligent woman. Some may say stubborn too, but she prides herself of her own ego.

She crosses her arms and exhales out a large breath, before her eyes meet his. The dark cold stare of his blue eyes present him being serious, and the tone of his voice is just as fitting to the atmosphere. “Discuss, well, what is there for us to discuss now?”

“Future details of course. I have upcoming missions, and of course, this is where we will meet. Over there,” Killian stops and points toward the back door, “there will be an extra key beside the dump outside. I’m sure you can scavenge for it somewhere. Most of the time, I may be here before you, and the door will remain unlocked. If not, then you are expected to come in and wait yourself.”

She glances over her shoulder at the metal door. “What else?”

“I must let you know that I’m not very fond of leaving tracks for the police to find. I hope you are good at keeping your _dirty_ hands off of anything, and if you touch something, you are going to take it,” he says, closing the distance between them. “I do not need a thief like you to blow my cover, do you understand that, Swan?” He emphasizes his words obviously.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” she jokes, rolling her eyes at him. “I told you I’m not a fool, Jones. I’ve been on the run as a thief since… forever,” she tells him, refraining from being specific with her past. “It should be the least of your concern to worry about how I grab and go.” But, she’s aware her voice softens, and she’s also quite aware how he seems to be analyzing her. “Personal space, dude.”

He backs up slowly and nods agreeingly. “Of course.”

“I hope this isn’t too much to ask, but since you sort of ruined my entire plan, would you mind buying me a drink? One is all I ask for, a simple beer and I’ll be off and away until tomorrow,” she requests.

He mutters something under his breath, but she can’t decipher what he says. “Why should I do that?”

“Because I highly doubt you want me to be dehydrated, or even starve to death?”

“You’re awfully sure about yourself, Swan,” he murmurs, sticking his hand into his pocket. He pulls out a twenty-dollar bill and hands it to her. “Treat yourself, lass. I have to go.” 

Emma snatches the twenty and nods. “Good night.”

“More like good morning,” he quips and walks past her, but stops and backtracks. “I reckon you’ll be buying more than one beer, so be careful about what you do around here, lass,” he whispers in her ear. The last thing she knows is that the door is slammed shut, and she’s standing there speechless.

Was it the slightest thought of sincerity that got her caught up in his words? Or was it the fact he actually _gave_ her more than what she even asked for without a minute to waste? Whatever it is, Emma shrugs it off and walks through the door back to the front of the bar.

He was right. She gets more than one little drink.

She’ll be okay.

* * *

Strolling down the street, he takes a second to glance up at the night skies. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling anything tonight. In fact, the only thing that is on his mind is Swan. One moment he’s cursing himself for getting into a cheeky little deal, the next he’s sort of glad he’s met her. If he would just make up his bloody mind, then this wouldn’t be as difficult as he’s set it to be.

Two years. Two full years of killing targets ordered from Gold. But, in the end, he still blames himself for everything. He blames himself for getting into a mess he can’t escape, and he blames himself for being a selfish man at the worst possible timing.

While Killian enters the apartment, he rushes up the stairs to the top floor and quickly takes large strides down the hallway until he’s inside his complex. The damned thoughts are all rushing back into him, like how he watches the blood gush and ooze out of those he kills. _It really couldn’t have been a better day_ , he thinks to himself, locking the door behind him. It’s ridiculous, because these thoughts _shouldn’t_ be coming back, but they are, and it’s stronger than ever.

He thinks it’s worth grabbing the half-empty bottle of rum, but he remembers he has a short meeting with Gold later on in the morning. The glance over at alcohol also seems to bring back the thought of Swan as well. Killian groans, and kicks his boots off. He heads down the narrow hallway to his left into his bedroom. The curtains are pulled shut as usual, and it’s one streak of gentle light that shines through the crack. By the time he’s laying in bed after dealing with the weapons taking care of his clothes, he’s staring at the ceiling, rubbing his face, and flipping back and forth until he gives up on trying.

Honestly, it’s not helping when she’s comparing _her_ and _her._ It’s even worse when he’s finally falling asleep, but he wakes up with a rush of cold sweat, frozen hands, and being on the very edge of his bed- literally.

Everything that comes back into his mind is breaking him down mentally. He squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a breath. “Bloody hell,” he mumbles, rolling onto his side, staring at the bright red numbers that say 4:13AM.

Frankly, it just seems like he can’t let go and move on. He’s stuck in such a shitty frame of mind, it will only get worse the moment he steps through into the dark room where Mr. Gold works.

After getting over the realization that he’s not going to manage to get any rest, he gets up for the rest of the day and prepares himself for some threats and taunting. A cup of coffee, sharpening his shiny knives, and taking an extremely long hot shower leaves him where he’s ready to get his new assignment for the month- wait, correction, _day._

He finds himself quietly walking down the bustling streets of crowded New York. His body is moving quickly, but he finds his eyes examining his surroundings. He remembers each alleyway and corner, and can’t help but think about Swan. This woman is doing wicked things to him already, and he’s only known her for an hour. It’s stupid, really.

He’s not going through this again. He’s sticking with his plan, he does his part of the deal, she does her, and that’s it. At least, that’s how he foresees her.

Killian ducks behind into the pathway he’s supposed to follow, one that is all too familiar with now, where it leads to the iron door. He looks both ways before he walks in, engulfing himself in the eerie room, the sunlight long gone from his purview. He’s really not much of a morning person, especially if it’s 7:30AM in New York.

Sometimes, he’ll remember how he moved here with Liam, expecting to start up a new life. But little did he know, out on one boating trip with his friends, there was an accident. Yet, that was seven years ago, and still, he cannot get over it sometimes.

He takes two steps up the small rise in the flooring, and finds himself in front of Gold. 

“Hello, Jones, how did last night go?”

“Just as planned. Target eliminated, as you said.”

“No interference?”

He nods. “Absolutely none, only that your target was quite a talker. It was a pleasure putting multiple bullets through his head and body,” he says, lying only about the interference part. He’s not going to tell him about his little game, no matter what. Gold cannot be told of such things.

Mr. Gold smiles deviously. “Good, good. I saw a little friend of yours last night, accompanying you to your best friend’s bar. Mind explaining?” he asks.

Busted.

Killian chuckles, covering up any of the nervousness that he feels. “Just a lass I met way before any of this ever happened. I ran into her on my way back. A little catching up was all,” he lies, clenching his jaw in the darkness. “You would be gravely mistaken if you thought there was anything else.”

“I see. Well, here’s your next assignment.” The old man, who he likes to call a Crocodile because of his evil looks, hands him a folder with all the acquired information. “If intel serves right, your little runner is supposed to be at the location indicated on the sheets. Eliminate him immediately, he poses a threat to my business.”

After listening to what he says, he nods and turns around to leave. Nearly being caught makes him tremble, because as much of a fearless man he seems to be, he is terrified of the Crocodile. He tends to be scary no matter how Killian approaches him, or how Gold approaches him. Creepy, basically.

He takes the dark way back to his apartment, keeping himself off the streets of NY. But, as he’s walking down the dark path behind the buildings, he catches a glance of familiar clothing, weaving through the alley.

A little following doesn’t hurt.

* * *

She busies herself with compensation for the previous night, well, earlier in the mornings events. She’s going in and out of buildings, watching for any targets.

Not the best way to spend her morning after waking up from passing out on a couple wooden planks that could have given her blisters, but, it’s the least she can do now that she needs to find some stuff to steal. It’s been at least 24 hours since her last grab and run, so, it’s just about time for her next capture.

That is, until her senses are tingling, and she pivots her stance to see a man, the same man standing there with a hand in his jeans pocket, and the other holding a- what, important file? Wait, new case. She can remember that at least. The drinks didn’t totally wipe her mind, but seeing him in more casual clothes than what she's _already_ used to- not prepared at all.

“Killian.”

“Swan.”

If there’s one thing on her mind, it’s probably the only thing. Not only is she now completely off track because of _him_ , she’s now having to walk around worrying about the damn guy following- or even stalking her. “What exactly are you doing, following me around?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “I merely caught a glance of you past the corner, thought I’d see if my prediction was right.”

Stuck in awe, she considers how observant he can be. “Prediction? Did you just automatically assume it was me out of the many thieves that could be roaming the streets of New York?” she inquires.

Killian scoffs, shaking his head. “I don’t underestimate, lass. I’ve seen a many thieves, but none are like you.”

“I can’t tell if you’re flirting, or being serious.” In all honesty, she is telling the truth there.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Whatever you’d like to take it as,” he replies.

“I’d loooove to keep chatting, but I sorta need to find myself some stuff to steal.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to keep you waiting,” he mutters. He waves the folder with papers in it around, implying exactly what she knows it as. “We meet tonight. Eleven sharp.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” she responds, waving her hand at him.

“Don’t get into any trouble, Swan!” he calls.

Emma stops dead in her tracks, and when she turns around, his back is facing her, walking in the opposite direction- then he turns the corner. Why did those precise words stop her from moving on? 

_This damn guy is ridiculous, one moment I seem like his enemy the next I seem like I’m his- no, Emma stop the thought._

It’s bugging her endlessly. Period. 

By 6PM, she has emptied her pockets when it came to selling off the stuff she could pickpocket. Rich on bills now. It’s funny to see how many black markets there are in the depths of the city where you’d expect a lot more from police, or a lot less for crime rates.

Though, the least she knows is her identity is always safe. She always wears, and covers herself properly, gets rid of the stuff, takes the money, and goes. Killian is the only one who comes close to knowing her name, because everyone else just calls her by The Golden Thief. It’s a name she’s come accompanied to for years, and really, it’s pretty dumb to have a _nickname_ that people call her by. But, she does prefer it more than anything else.

And one thing is sure, the more she thinks about how Killian knows half of her full name, the more she feels worried about her safety. Whatever he claims can be one thing, but she can’t trust him yet. The only way she keeps herself intact with that theory, is the fact that he nearly sliced her neck to pieces and let her bleed to death. But, the way her name rolls off his tongue-

_No._

Thank God she has quick reflexes and thinking. Risky reflexes and decisions, to be exact.

With no where to go in mind, she heads off to Robin’s bar. She doesn’t hate the place, but she doesn’t feel too comfortable hanging around the guy. He just seems very… how do you say it? Unsure, scared, worried, concerned? Something like that.

Business is a lot more busy than it is when it’s past midnight, and she’s sitting at the stool with her head down.

“This isn’t a place for you to sleep,” he says.

Robin.

“You know exactly what I am. You should be glad I’m not robbing you,” she mutters, lifting her head up slowly. “Tequila would be nice, Robin.”

He shoots her a confusing glance, and turns around to reach for the bottle and glass. “Just so you know, you shouldn’t have made that deal with him.”

“It would’ve costed my life if I haven’t,” she responds, taking a sip. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing. Looking out for my friend,” he claims, shrugging his shoulders. 

She wants to pry, but that’s wrong in all ways, and she’s not exactly interested either. At least she’s telling herself she isn’t. Before she is able to ask him, or continue a conversation, he goes off to deal with other customers, which leaves her with a moment to think.

“Why, I didn’t think you’d be here, lass.”

_Ugh, not now._

She groans and keeps her eyes away from him, scanning the multiple bottles of alcohol all stacked nicely across the shelves behind the dark, marble counter.

“Ignoring me isn’t a very bright idea,” he insists. He takes a seat next to her, and it’s not helping her in any shape, or form.

Emma takes another sip out of the glass. “Let’s say I’m tired. Had some shifty deals in the market, not exactly worth talking about, I’m lucky I lived,” she complains.

“Not paid enough?”

She tips her glas slightly to the side. “Precisely.”

“Just how do you do it?” he asks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Perhaps I would.”

Emma snorts. She literally does, in front of him. Also worth noting she nearly chokes on her tequila in her hands, and slams the glass (not with that much force,) on the counter and turns her head. “I can’t believe you, Killian.”

He looks confused, maybe even slightly offended of the sort. She tries not to acknowledge any of that though. “Pardon me?”

“One moment you look like you’re about to kill me, the next you’re all understanding! I don’t get it, I really don’t, and I _don’t_ intend for us to keep going like this.”

He sighs. “What exactly are you hinting towards, Swan?” he questions.

“What I’m hinting towards is that you need to know we are _nothing_ more than allies. Not even friends, I say.” Close to yelling. So close. “By the way, here’s your twenty back.” She reaches into her pocket inside and puts it in front of him. “Is that clear?”

“It is.”

And she’s trying to keep herself from noticing the small sound of disappointment coded in his voice, and perhaps, just _perhaps_ she is hearing things. But the bothering voice in the back of her head knows better, because she knows he’s lying. Human lie-detector, ding ding! It may be clear, but he won't be stopping anytime soon.

Now, she’s avoiding him, completely, and she also tries to ignore the fact he looks a little sad as well. Is he trying to kill her of guilt? If she needs to admit it, she does feel a tinge of guilt, and yet she can’t let that get to her. They are acquaintances with a simple deal, and she’s trying to force every possible impure thought out of her mind. It’s not that it’s never occurred to her, but she wants nothing more than to take it, and leave. There’s nothing more to their little deal than it is now, and she is definitely in no mood to complicate the relations any further.

Some petty little nagging voices are not going to ruin who she really is. But, is this really who she is? Is _this_ really what she wants?

“Sorry,” he mumbles, breaking the silence between them.

She turns her head. “Huh?”

“I may have been too directive with you. I understand you don’t like me, but that doesn’t stop the fact we have to seem like we’re friends,” he says, turning his gaze to hers.

His blue eyes feel empty, lost, and well, the guilt is building up in her again. She never feels guilt when she steals, so it doesn’t justify why she feels it now. "Why?”

“I may have told Gold that we were old friends catching up with each other.”

This is _great_. “You what?”

“He saw us, alright? I don’t know what you would have told your _sinister_ boss if you had been seen with a bloody woman that is out of the regular.”

So many questions pop into her mind, but she only needs to have him answer a couple before she can move on. “Okay, hold up there. One, why was he spying on us? And two, why couldn’t you have been straight up with him about our deal?”

“He has eyes everywhere, that explains the daily missions I embark on. Secondly, if I had addressed it with him, he would have slaughtered me with the slowest pain of torture possible. He doesn’t like it when I deal with other affairs,” he explains, being quite descriptive with his words. “Don’t worry about it, lass. Usually, he doesn’t peek around on his own employee.”

“Are you his _only_ employee?”

Violently, he shakes his head. “Gods, of course not. I am his main employee however, and he tends to check up on me sometimes. Rather embarrassing,” he retaliates, rubbing his face. 

“Main employee,” she mumbles in repeat.

He sighs. “He uses me for dirty work. His other men are little subordinate rats that lurk around his lair for security purposes.” 

“Fantastic, I assume I’m already on his side of ‘suspicious people to look into,’” she mumbles sarcastically, finishing her glass of tequila.

“I won’t be letting him do that anytime soon, Swan,” he assures her.

“Why is that?” she asks, furrowing her brows at his statement. “I don’t recall you being my guardian, the last time I checked.”

“Let’s get this straight, lass. I will care for you, I will ask you questions, I will be demanding, and I will be a prick in your arse. Now, with all that out of the way, you wouldn’t mind if I elaborated, would you?”

“One more thing.”

He groans. “What?”

“Why do you care?”

“You're as much of a human who deserves chances as I am. You're as much as a person who needs a friend in their life, and as much as you _push_ me away, I will remain as a _pillar_ of support.”

“We’ve known each other for like... a day.”

“That doesn’t prove much, Swan. Take in our quiet moments, would you? It’s not often I even get time to spend outside of our _illegal_ activities," he whispers, leaning closer toward her. "You're lucky I spared your life, remember that."

His responses are becoming rapid, rushed, and she understands why. He wants to get it out, he wants to ignore attracting attention, and he wants to admit things he’s been keeping in. She knows this well enough, because she’s always wanted to do the same. She’s always wanted to confess things, but she’s never had the person there to speak to.

So, technically, now she has Killian. It shocks her how _understanding_ he can really be, behind that tough looks he has. Leather jacket, black jeans are really a style he can… oddly rock, and she doesn’t find herself complaining about how he looks. She also doesn’t find herself questioning anymore of his motives, and that’s probably a good thing. She knows he’s irritated by her questions, and she definitely doesn’t want to anger him.

Dying is the last thing she wants now.

"Alright. Well, I'm going to go... I don't know, play darts or something to pass time," she says, spinning on the stool. She pulls out a ten and plops it on the bar, and walks in the opposite direction.

"I'd like to challenge you then," he offers, following behind her.

She scoffs, but then realizes one thing. "Hardly fair for a professional to go against a beginner."

He picks up a dart and examines it playfully. "Perhaps I'll take it easy on you- that is if you'd like me to be a lot less competitive?"

"I'd rather not. Shameful if you let me win because of your generosity, Jones."

He smiles at her, and she melts just a little bit inside- just a _little_. "Good, because I reckon by the time we are done here, it will be time for our little meeting," he predicts, throwing the dart at the board.

She is definitely going to lose this one. Dead on bullseye, and he seems like it goes by like a breeze. He makes it look easy, and that is highly unfair for her. But, maybe she can wing it, because it wouldn't be the first time she's done it.

"I sense jealousy, love," he wildly claims, nudging her shoulder. "Afraid of losing to me?"

"Tsch, you may win, but I am not jealous. Just wait and see," Emma insists, picking up the dart.

Time to show him what she's capable of, even with little experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Woopy doo, be prepared for drama later._


	3. Chapter 3

Maybe a bad idea, just a little bit. Thirty minutes in she's losing- she's _really_ behind.

68 - 24.

She is far off from getting rid of that 501 points. He's only _24_ off from winning. 

This frustration is overwhelming her, but she avoids showing any of it. That is, if you consider facepalming numerous times not showing your frustration. She's on the chair with an resting arm on the table, staring at the ceiling. 

"Okay, I think it's quite obvious you're going to win," she admits, not bothering to look down. She knows he's grinning, smirking, or whatever it is he finds a way to torture her.

"I insist we finish up the game. I'm close," he says, picking up the dart. "But, you are _sort_ of close."

Emma groans and lets her head drop down. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No, I'm not. Only Robin has ever been close to beating me, then again, he does archery on his spare time."

"Is it eleven yet?"

"Three more hours." He aims the dart carefully, and within a second, he grabs an 18 pointer. 

There is 6 points left until he reaches zero, and she's still way off with only two turns left. "Fucking damn, alright, let's get this over with," she grumbles, standing up.

Well, within a short five minutes, the game's over- Killian being the victorious one. Not surprising at all. The thing is, she was prepared to lose anyways. But, the losing wasn't the worst part, it was the aftermath of Killian's mockery.

"Aw, cheer up, Swan."

She rolls her eyes at his confidence- she's slowly getting used to his huge ego, it’s literally off the charts. "You know, I don't feel sad about myself losing, you know that right? I don’t need pity."

He shrugs. "I see frustration," he claims. "I can teach you if you'd like, it's not that difficult." He shifts his feet to go around the table separating them, and the proximity is way _too_ close. He positions himself in the middle, lifting his arm up with the dart in his hand in front of her. His body’s flush against her. "It's all about patience."

"Yet you throw it within a seconds time,” she exclaims, staring at the dartboard. She’s trying her best to ignore this body contact. _Nope, not falling for anything, definitely not_ , she tells herself.

He chuckles, and the sound echoes in her mind as it goes into her ears. "It's also all about trusting your own accuracy, and not over-analyzing."

“You make me over-analyze. I keep thinking you’re doing something completely magical,” she mutters.

He sighs and places the dart in her hand. “Swan, just let loose. Try it for yourself.”

“Fine.” With that, she takes the dart and tries to follow all the little pointers he’s given her. 

_Patience, relax, trust myself, don’t over-analyze._

And, maybe, just maybe she feels excited because she hits close to the middle. It’s progress. “Wow, okay.”

With a little face of something she considers amusement, the least he’s done is back up. It’s a good thing, because with as much self-control she has, she doesn’t think she can handle having that body of his against hers, even if it’s not meant to be sexual. “You’ve done it now. I told you so,” he brags.

“I don’t need to hear your gloating. I’m pretty sure this was a one time thing. Next time, I’ll be completely off target again. I know it.” She glances over at the TV that has been rebroadcasting the same news over and over. The time was only 8:18.

_Ugh. Why did I come here? Oh, that’s right. I had nothing better to do for the rest of the day._

“Now, that is not trusting your own abilities. I thought you’d be more than capable, Swan, you are a thief,” he states, crossing his arms. “Rather disappointing.”

Emma scoffs and takes the dart off the board. “Yeah, whatever you say.” She places the dart back in it’s belonging area, and turns back. “Can we just get this meeting over with _now_?”

“Impatient as usual I see.”

“Only around you.”

“For what particular reason, lass?”

She shrugs as he eyes her. “How would I know? You bring out the impatient in me, so I think that’s a bad thing.”

“Rushed. I imagine what else you would be impatient for,” he says, arching his eyebrow in curiosity. The next thing that appears on his face is a goofy grin, which is tearing her apart.

“Don’t,” she sternly demands.

He lifts his hands up in defense and nods. “Apologies.”

* * *

Approximately two hours go by, and Swan seems to be losing her sanity. Killian is trying his best to keep her cool, but buying her a couple of drinks before going on a mission isn’t an option. She’s frustrated with darts, and any attempt of his _charming_ personality is throwing her off track and making her seem like a deadly person to be with.

Not exactly how he planned his night to go.

He’s let her go off for a short little walk to clear her mind, and told her to return back within fifteen minutes. Of course, she doesn’t keep track of time, she’s ten minutes late, but that’s to the least of his concern now. What he does need to be concerned about, is the fact he needs to keep her a safe distance from the killing.

What he has planned, is how he’s going to execute his target. A quick shot to the head with his sniper, and he’ll be off, at least after making sure Swan escapes in one piece.

“So, basically this guy lives on a rooftop of an apartment.”

“Aye.”

“How do you suppose we get up there without having to take interior stairs?”

“Well, you need to climb the fire escape. I will be on the building across from you, giving you cover. If you get out of my view, well, that’s out of my hands, where you’ll be responsible for what you do.”

“How do you expect not to make a ruckus with a sniper rifle?” she asks, pulling the sleeves of her dirty brown jacket down.

“There’s thunder tonight, lass. If you haven’t realized, it’s pouring rain outside now. Tonight is in our favour, and if we can execute this perfectly, everything will go just as planned. Any more questions?”

“Nope.”

“Well, you have half an hour to yourself. But before that, here.” He hands her an earpiece. “Put that in your ear so we can communicate. I’ll tell you when I’m ready, and we may get on with it.”

“Quite the load of supplies you have,” she says, plugging the earpiece into her ear. 

“There’s a lot more where that came from. Now, you’ll need to listen to me, because if you don’t, you might die, and I can tell you don’t want to look death in the eye,” he states, switching his leather jacket off for his usual assassin clothes. (Compiled of all dark fabrics, covering everything except his eyes.)

“Trust me.”

Killian sighs and pulls the hood of his black sweater up. “Again with the trust.”

“Hey, I trust my abilities with stealing, you trust yours will killing. Let’s put that together,” she suggests, shrugging her shoulders. “Two is better than one.”

“Two minds are better than one, but when one fails to cooperate, it ruins the entire point,” he mutters, finally pulling his mask up. “I’ll be going now.”

“See you.”

/-/-/-/-/-/

He’s carrying his sniper rifle up to the top of the rooftop, being soaked by the pouring rain. It’s really rare to get such heavy weather, but maybe it’s his lucky day.

Nearly slipping, he sets himself up, placing the weapon down on the edge of the roof, adjusting it to where he is able to see the building across from him. There is a small light showing, and he sees the movement. Good thing he’s chosen to use his thermal vision scope. Out of all his concerns, his greatest one is… Swan.

Something he would rather _not_ admit.

But, coming close after is his accuracy and timing. Although thunder is supposed to be his cover, if he’s off by even the slightest second, he’s going to probably alarm every NYPD officer on duty. Not the ideal outcome of his plan tonight. And, it definitely won’t help if Gold realizes his mistake, because that man will definitely choke him (metaphorically,) until he understands not to make such a stupid mistake again.

“Swan, can you hear me?” he mumbles.

“Loud and clear,” she says. Her voice is covered by white noise, and the sound of rain hitting the metal.

He sighs with relief, knowing she can hear him- not that he’s already doubted that. “You’re in position?”

“Yeah. On you,” she responds.

Now, it all comes down to precision. He sees his target, standing there doing whatever in the world he is doing. He’s just a blurb of glowing white, surrounded by the dark night. 

Patience is the key here. He’s waiting for the thunder to finally erupt, before he can shoot. The streets are crowded with cars in traffic, a lot of honking to take in too- more cover for him. If there’s one thing he’s positive about, when they find the body, all evidence is erased. Rain is great.

The crosshair follows him as the man moves around, but he quickly moves it to catch a glance at Swan. She’s waiting, crouching right under the top layer. He can’t help but check in on her. He quickly moves it back, and to his relief, the man is still up there. 

Who takes residence on the roof of an apartment building anyways? Is that considered illegal? Then again… they are both doing something completely illegal at the moment.

“Anytime would be nice,” she says, her voice startling him.

He groans. “Wait.”

There’s no response after that, and he’s glad he’s shut her trap. He doesn’t exactly like being taken out of focus, and he’s definitely not used to it, considering he usually does all this work on his own. Having a partner-in-crime isn’t ideal, but now that he’s stuck here with one, he might as well have to learn to endure her as well.

He surmises it’s been ten minutes, but thunder strikes just then, the loud sound echoes, and he pulls the trigger. He watches the figure drop- _bingo._ “Your move, Swan.”

Killian keeps the crosshair on the quick moving figure throughout the scope, watching her. But, she ducks out of his vision, and that’s when he can’t see her or cover her any further. It’s been about five minutes now, and she hasn’t said a thing to him. His heartbeat's gaining speed, and he doesn’t know why. _Yes_ , he’s worrying, but never has a woman had such an effect on him like this. It’s something worth keeping note of, now that he’s fighting against all these tugging thoughts and emotions.

“Swan... Make it quick!” he exclaims, packing his gun up. “We don’t have all day.”

But, there’s still no response, and it’s irritating him. He’s constantly checking his watch, the hand ticking by each second, and each minute. He’s running low on patience when it reaches fifteen minutes, and he’s running down the stairs- with a heavy gun on his back, mind you- the blood rushing through his veins like water being released after a dam is broken down. 

He crosses the street, weaving between the parked cars in traffic, rushing up the stairs hastily. Not a smart idea on his half making his scene in public with a gun and all (he’s practically invisible to the eye anyways with his clothes), but he’s praying that she’s okay.

For some reason he’s going to find it as an excuse later.

One minute he’s nearly slipping and falling on his face, the next he’s striding up the stairs and ladders until he reaches the top.

Blood is being washed off by the rain, but there’s no sign of her. “Bloody hell,” he mutters, looking around frantically.

“What’re you doing here?” she exclaims.

Killian spins around to see her with a dazzled look. “I was looking for you!”

“What, why?”

He’s unable to tell whether she’s playing around with him, or if she’s being serious about the entire thing. “Maybe because you weren’t bloody responding to me,” he explains.

“Oh,” she whispers, her voice lowering.

“Don’t ‘oh,’ me. You left me thinking you had slipped and died or something!” he yells, concern growing in his heart. And if he knows one thing, this is not the usual Killian Jones- he can confess that himself. He hardly yells at anyone, let alone get angered so easily. Perhaps tonight there’s a change, a change he himself cannot hold back.

She looks hesitant, as if something is overwhelming her- as if _someone_ is overwhelming her. “Killian, let’s go. We can talk later,” she mutters, dragging him by the sleeve.

He obeys, deciding not to protest because the least he knows is he needs to keep himself in order. Especially at a place with a dead body. Before he was full of worry, now he’s _somewhat_ full of relief, and can partially relax. But not fully until she explains herself. The way she said ‘oh’ as a bit of guilt, even an implication of ‘I’m sorry,’ as well.

They’re both rushing down the back alleyway behind the apartment buildings, before they manage to find their way into the back of The Rabbit Hole. They’re soaked from head to toe, cold, and confused. One is urgent for answers, the other is dumbfounded.

First thing’s first, he places the sniper down, letting it lean against the wall. Killian rips off his wet sweater, throwing it on the ground. Nothing he can do about the pants though, so he leaves those on. Might as well change when he gets home.

“I didn’t respond because I didn’t hear anything from you,” she blurts out, pulling the jacket hood off of her head. “Trust me, if I did hear you, I would have said something.”

“And would you have any buggering clue about why you didn’t hear anything?” he asks curiously, pulling his t-shirt up and down to make it dry faster. 

“No. Perhaps it malfunctioned,” she suggests, shrugging her shoulders. “You believe me, don’t you?”

“Of course it malfunctioned,” he mutters, running a hand over his face and through his hair. “Look, I don’t mean to offend you, but you’re not exactly on my entire list of trustworthy people.”

“Why? Because I’m a thief? Because a _stupid_ label for what I am dictates who I am as a person?”

He can see the hurt in her eyes, the pain in her voice, and he feels a tight knot form in the pit of his stomach. “Swan, you know what I mean,” he urges himself to say, swallowing the forming lump in his throat. Unwise.

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t. Guess what? You can think I’m not trustworthy, whatever, but if you think a simple rank of what I am in society proves who I am, you’re ridiculously wrong,” she argues, her voice getting louder by the second. “I thought you would understand. I thought you would be the one person who would get where I was coming from.” She rubs her face before saying some words that strike him in the heart. “I was wrong.”

Not a good day. Target eliminated yes, but he feels like their relationship is at more stake than a person’s death. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way,” he whispers, rubbing the back of his neck.

Now, he feels all the guilt seeping into his cooling blood. A moment he’s yelling at her for leaving him hanging, the next she’s unbelievably frustrated with the way he’s acting toward her. This is the moment where she’s calling him out on his behaviour.

This shouldn’t be worrying him, _she_ shouldn’t matter to him, she’s just a part of a stupid deal. But, there’s something there that’s more, and he’s getting closer to the answer, but then that answer is taking a step back, making it even more pointless. Perhaps, none of this should even be a thing, perhaps he should just leave and never turn back- something tells him otherwise. Something bugs him endlessly about it, and before he knows it, he’s internally slapping himself awake.

This is not the normal _Killian Jones._ This is not _the assassin._

“Killian.”

He snaps out of his trance, clenching his jaw. Not subtle at all. “Sorry, lass. Got caught up in the moment.”

“Look, don’t worry about it anymore.” She lets out a sigh. “It’s just that I’m sick and tired of what people think of me when they have no right to judge.”

He nods. “I understand.”

“Do you really? You seem like you’re not over it yet.”

He can’t find the bravery he usually has to confront her with more words, so he sticks to short answers- _extremely_ short answers, which are extremely suspicious. “Aye.” She’s the one demanding, he’s the one attentively listening. Keeping distance too.

“One word answers. Alright, something’s off, but I’m not going to be an asshole and pry,” she mumbles, letting her hair tumble over her shoulders.

And if he’s going to be honest, he’s never felt such a pull before, but now, watching her golden curls flow like that gives him so many ideas that he should keep to himself, and just never think about again. He’s never caught such a glimpse of anger in those emerald-green eyes of hers until two minutes ago, and he’s never heard the frustration in her voice, and how much she seems so _broken_ in so many ways.

It might just be him being the one who’s over-analyzing, but if he’s right- he can read her. Like a book; an open one. 

He recalls the moments where he’s told her he would like to know about how she does her part in life, and then she responds in such a confused tone. All these unspoken words between them beat him down, but he just wants to ignore it all, fight through it, and be nothing more than… well, whatever they are. But, he also finds himself stuck between wanting her, and killing her. So many contradictory thoughts are going in and out of his brain, making its presence well known. 

When she turns around, she walks toward the wall sliding down. “I’m going to crash here tonight since I can’t exactly go out there.”

“You’ll get sick in those clothes,” he declares earnestly, pointing at the drenched clothes she’s still wearing around her.

“When has it mattered to you?”

“I’ve-” _always thought it mattered._ But he can’t say it. She’s not in the mood, he’s not in the mood either, and everything is just horrible, he can’t even think. “Did you get anything from the body?” he asks, evading the question.

“He had a bunch of money on him, that’s it. It’ll be enough to keep me supplied for the rest of the month, I think."

“Okay.” He crouches down to pick up his still-wet sweater, and turns around reluctantly to take the gun. “Good night, Swan.”

With that, he swings the gun strap over his shoulder, and heads out into the darkness. He hears so many noises right now, wanting to escape and be free, but then being denied and thrown back into its cell. He’s dying to know why he’s feeling so obnoxiously attracted to Swan.

He doesn’t even know her full name, or _real_ name.

When he gets home, the first thing he does is strips all his disgusting wet clothes off to take a proper shower. He’s not in the mood to do anything more than that. The hot water calms him down, but it sort of makes him go through all his thoughts again. He leans forward, his fists hitting the tile walls, eyes squeezing shut, refusing to believe anything.

He could just leave and forget about her. He could just break the deal off and act as if they are strangers. He could just-

Killian doesn’t finish the thought. It’s rather depressing to know there could be so many options, yet he’s choosing to stick to the one which is causing him so much stress. He’s anxious to know if she feels it too, but it’s doubt that overcomes him. _Swan wouldn’t like me. I’m a killer._

All of a sudden, he remembers when his body was pressing against hers while showing her how to play darts. He unintentionally lets out a soft moan, then taking in a sharp, ragged breath as the water hits his body. He tenses up, having the most inappropriate thoughts flooding him. He’s wondering how it would be to have it with her, how he would feel hearing her scream his name in desperation, in want. He’s known her for two bloody days, and he’s fantasizing about her already.

_Not a good sign, Killian. Pick yourself up, mate._

He plugs the hole up and turns the handle to turn the shower head off, and only uses the faucet. He slides against the cold tiles, until his ass hits the bottom of the cold tub, plunging into the rising level of hot water. Killian lets the hot water make his skin burn, it feels weirdly refreshing. When the tub is half full, he shuts the water off and closes his eyes. He bangs his head on the tiles behind him and grunts at the pain before he gives up on fighting the restless reminders in his mind.

Just who is this woman, being able to find a way to _engrave_ herself into his mind? He cares for her, he questions her and he can’t find the words to speak to her without saying something over-the-top, or offending her in some stupid way. Fucking dumb as hell, and yet, here he is, succumbing to the feeling of hot water that feels as if it’s melting his skin. Here he is, lost, clueless and too _full_ of himself to even deal with the problem head-on.

He knows he shouldn’t keep it in, he knows he shouldn’t let it all get to him. He’s overwhelming himself with excruciatingly more details than he needs to, but he can’t help it. It’s like there’s something telling him to think about it, to not take his mind off. _Fuck_ this voice in his head.

If he could, for a moment, just drift off into nothing, that would be great. But things don’t go as planned. Instead, his mind drifts off to a projection of Swan in his head.

It’s obvious enough she feels nothing toward him (at least not the way she acts), yet he’s feeling like _everything_ in the world is revolving around her. This isn’t exactly the way he wants the rest of the day to go. It’s like 1AM or something, and he’s sitting lonely in a bathtub, drowning in so many problems he wants to quickly resolve, or get over with. It’s like a teenager over a melodramatic breakup, and he feels like a total moron. A bloody git.

He sits up and stares at the reflection in the water. He dips his hands in and splashes the hot water over his face, staring down. He really doesn’t know what to fucking do, and all these ideas are useless, and he wants to let go so badly, but he can’t because it’s too _early._ Robin was right about letting her in.

The steam is emitting from the hot water, and now that he’s just about done with himself, he drains the water out, and prepares for sleep. There’s nothing more relieving than the calling of slumber, and the fatigue taking his body down, but the thing is, he _can’t_ sleep. That should be quite evident now, the images and thoughts all coming into him making him inevitable to rest. The old memories of his previous ‘love’ haunting him during endless nights even though it’s been two years, the fresh new beliefs of maybe having a bit more with a woman he hardly knows- really? He really has the urge to strangle someone right now. He’s feeling paranoid, tired, annoyed and… something else that just can’t come off the tip of his tongue.

She’s never shown him any evidence that would remotely consider him as an enemy, but there’s something about the way she speaks to him that bothers him deep down. The knot in his stomach only gets tighter, and _tighter_ , and the more he tries to ignore it- even forget about the ridiculous feelings- the more obvious it makes its presence. 

Never, in his life, has he ever had such absolute feelings toward anyone, except one other. That one other has slipped away from him a long time ago. Sometimes, he wonders if it was ever worth the trouble of going through with the damned plans in the first place. If it was worth even considering to take her away from the man he now _works_ under. Talk about a screwed up life he’s living. But, if he never did lose her, or work under Gold, perhaps he would have never met Swan. _No, don’t think about it that way. It’s too early, Killian, go to sleep._ Telling himself the same things over and over do not help at all.

It’s the brief thought of thinking he _could_ be with her that kills him. But, she’s in the position of denying him, and he’s in the position of pushing away all possibilities, seizing all the opportunities. He probably seems like a madman if he was to confess this stuff.

_Two days._

It’s been only two days. He needs to calm down, he needs to find the calm in the storm before it erupts into something far worse than what he can perceive himself. He inhales a big breath before letting it out, rubbing his face of the stress.

This is not how he’s expected to spend his Tuesday night. Or Wednesday morning.

What bothers him even further, is the thought of Liam. The things his older brother _could_ have told him, the things his older brother _always_ told him. Yet there he lays in bed, dreaming about one thing, then flailing about with the other. His brother would either be encouraging, or a total stubborn arse about it. It’s like he feels a gash across his chest, the pain only advancing. He shouldn’t be feeling such things, but he is, and he can’t control it. The only thing he can do is endure it.

But soon enough he will realize one thing.

He can’t just endure this pain, or this knowledge of his newly developed feelings. He needs to embrace it, and to act on it. But the issue is that he’s totally not admitting it, nor will he ever think to that point, because right now, he’s struggling to catch his breath. He’s drowning in that boiling water, and he’ll evaporate soon enough if he doesn’t make his damn decision soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Don't worry._


	4. Chapter 4

After he leaves, her eyes linger at the spot of where he was standing. She snapped at him, and she feels the guilt slowly taking over her body. She overreacted, she knows that, but she wasn't able to keep it in at that moment. He only meant for the best, yet she took it the wrong way and yelled at him. She never feels anything like this, nothing remotely to this guilt, but now that she's just watched him walk away, she feels as if she's made the worst mistake in her life.

What she had mentioned was technically true. In a way, she feels like she can believe in him, where she can trust him, but maybe she was to quick to judge- perhaps he’s not the man she thinks she knows. 

Now, she's in a dark room, sitting on the cold ground with wet clothes, immediately regretting her choice of words. She could read his face, and somehow, that worries her. Just how easily was it to notice the retraction from him? _Too easy_ , that's for sure. Emma rests her arms on her knees, letting her head drop down in between. She curses under her breath, before she falls asleep.

She doesn't know if it's worth trying with how she keeps thinking of Killian, because she doesn't think it's worth it. _He's just another man_ , she tells herself as she stands up. Her clothes have partially dried, but she's still covered with rain water in the back of a bar. 

She pushes the door, walking into the bar where Robin is dealing with the swarm of customers. She looks at the TV, and it says it's 2:57PM. She slept all the way through the morning? She hardly remembers having that deep of a slumber, but she spins on her heels and goes back into the back room.

But, the room isn't empty like before. "What are you doing here?" she asks, rubbing her face.

"Giving you some bloody clothes because you're still wet, and you're going to be sick. And I don't care about _what_ buggering excuse you give me, because like I've said, I _care_ ," he snaps, throwing her the sweatpants and t-shirt. “Though, you'll have to manage with your jacket, however."

Emma catches the small stack of clothes. "Thanks," she mumbles and turns around to head to the washroom, but then she remembers she owes him an apology. One that she really wants to say, but can't get herself to say it. "Anything tonight?"

"No."

She nods and goes out the door, slipping between the tables. It's bothering her now, the guilt. A second ago, she wanted to apologize but couldn't find it in her guts to say it, and she regrets it. She might not get the opportunity to say it, and that irritates her endlessly. Even while she changes in the stall, she can't stop thinking about it, she can't stop blaming herself, and _fuck_ why didn't she turn back to say it earlier? It's her fault he's acting differently, everything is because of _her_ now, and she's started something she can't stop. But, she can control it, she can fix it- that is if she _chooses_ to, which is the issue she’s struggling with right now. 

The clothes are slightly big for her- of course, it’s probably his- but, she can manage. Emma slips her jacket on, and slides out the washroom back to the bar, where she sees him at the bar, swirling a glass around with some sort of alcohol in it. 

One chance. She gets one chance, and if she fucks this up, well damn her mouth.

“Killian.”

“Swan.”

“Do you have a minute?”

“All the time in the world, lass,” he says, taking a sip from his drink. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Swan?”

“Nothing you need to have a say in, but, I need to apologize.”

He sighs. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“More like I need to apologize for snapping at you last night. I was just caught up with everything, and you were yelling at me, and I really just wasn’t in a good mood,” she says. 

“I know that, you’ve made it quite clear you don’t want me to _judge_ you when it’s not my place to,” he mutters, taking a swig out of his drink. “I really don’t know what else there is to say.”

“No, there’s _a lot_ to say. For one, you don’t seem to be accepting my apology, and I don’t know what else you want to hear from me.”

“Maybe leaving me to myself would suffice.”

Maybe she’s doing something wrong, but she’s pretty sure she’s done everything in her ability to apologize to him. “Fine. I thought I was stubborn, but damn, you’re harder to please than I thought,” she mumbles, heading toward the door.

She’s bolting down the streets before she turns the corner into the dark alley. She throws her old clothes into the garbage, and moves away, pressing her back against the brick wall. It shouldn’t be making her angry, but she’s _infuriated_ with how he’s reacting. She thought she was the one overreacting, now he’s overreacting about it. 

“Swan.”

“What the fuck? Did you just follow me again?”

“I’m sorry for that, and I’m sorry for pushing you away, I…”

She rolls her eyes and sighs. She may only know him for a short amount of time, but then again, they’ve spent a lot of time together, and she can tell when there’s something on his mind- which _scares_ her to hell because it shouldn’t be this easy for her. “Spit it out, Jones,” she demands, crossing her arms.

He shifts his weight over on his right leg, sticking his hands into his jeans pockets. “I _can’t_.”

“Why not?” She’s desperate to find the answer he’s holding back, but if she’s understanding this right, it’s _something_ between the two of them, and them only.

“It’s too early for me to tell you. I need you to understand that. You said you wouldn’t pry, this is the time to _not_ pry.”

Great, now that he’s brought back a point like that, she’s bound to not go against that. She throws her hands up in defeat, and brings it back down. “Alright, I won’t.” Emma also completely ignores the definition of ‘it’s too early.’

“Thank you. So, do you forgive me?”

She chuckles. “Do you forgive me?”

“Aye.”

She gives him a shaky smile- she is not used to smiling. It’s been too long since she’s felt a genuine smile appear on her face. “Then that’s settled. Now, you can go back to drinking whatever it was you were, and I’m going to go buy myself a lunch. Thanks to you, I look cleaner,” she says.

“Never thought I’d see one of those.”

“What?”

“A smile.”

“I’m human. I smile and frown. Why are you surprised?”

He shrugs. “Considering the amount of times we’ve been together, you've hardly ever smiled at me, that’s all.”

“Right. Well, being on the move with so much stress, it can really take a toll, you know?”

“Aye… But, uh, Swan, I have an offer. Much of a peace offering as well,” he says.

“What else could you possibly offer? I mean, you’ve given me money, clothes, even taught how to play darts better.”

Killian bluntly states, “A home.”

“A home? Killian, what exactly are you offering?” she asks.

“I have a spare room you can live in. I can’t have you be staying in the back of my best friend’s bar all the time.”

She takes it into consideration. _Wouldn’t this be a big step of trust and consideration?_ It is definitely a big step to her. “I- do I even have a choice here? Would you be pursuing me until I say yes to this?”

“Highly probable,” he says. “A lady doesn’t deserve to sleep on a cold floor.”

“So you were serious about the entire ‘I’m going to care’ thing, huh?”

He looks at the ground like he’s embarrassed. _He’s god damn ador_ \- “Aye, indeed. It’s the least I can do after being a mingy prick earlier.”

“Fine. But I guess that sort of means we won’t be using the bar as a meeting place anymore.”

He nods. “You’re right. Now, would you like to see the place you’ll be living at now?”

“Yeah, sure. Not to be mean, but your buddy Robin doesn’t seem to like me that much anyways, so getting out of there’s good news to me,” she admits, shrugging.

He doesn’t seem shocked, but he does laugh. “Don’t worry, the fact will grow on him eventually,” he replies. “He’s a good man, only trying to look out for his best mate.”

All this tension is finally gone, she feels free again, able to _think_ without having to go back and decide whether her thought is good or bad. There’s no more ignoring, or keeping secrets, and now that it’s official, she actually has a place to _stay._ She’s never had a place to stay before. Never. Now she does. She feels grateful to some sort of extent, but, she’s still telling herself to _not_ trust him, when he’s given her so many reasons to trust him. 

“Swan, let us go to my apartment, aye?” He’s tilting his head over, motioning toward the sidewalk. 

She nods. “Right, sorry. I’m still trying to… you know, fathom that I’m getting a roof over my head. I’ve never really stayed in one place before, let alone _anywhere_.”

He starts walking, and she follows next to him. “You’ve stayed in New York for long?”

“Not really. Used to run around in Boston before I hopped a train over here,” she explains, keeping her eyes down, facing the sidewalk. “I have a little history back there.”

“I see. Well, ever planning to return or go anywhere else?” he asks.

She shakes her head, bringing her head up to look forward. “Not at the moment. I’m quite satisfied being here,” _because of you_ \- she answers honestly.

“Let me guess, is it because of me?” he teases, glancing over at her.

It’s like he just read her mind. She’s not going to admit it like that though. “What? No!” she quickly denies. “I mean, well, sort of? You’re giving me a bed to sleep on, I think that’s enough for me to feel good about being here,” she immediately explains, pushing away the sudden urge of awkward feelings.

“Well, it’s better that I play a role than not contributing- you’re welcome that I _didn’t_ kill you that night,” he says, emphasizing ‘didn’t.’ “Well, the apartment isn’t much further. Up the block, turn the right and we’re in.”

They don’t say anything for awhile, while she follows behind him. Apparently, he lives on the very top which means a lot of stair climbing. She’s not willing to go through the elevator, not if it means having to deal with so many stops each time she goes up and down.

He introduces her to the layout of his apartment, it’s dark, barely any light shining through, but for some reason, it feels… right? That’s the word that describes it best. 

“So, I probably need to give you a key. I’ll have that sorted by tomorrow. Right now, I need to actually go have a chat with Gold, he’s… requested my presence for some reason,” he says, leaning against the doorframe of the spare bedroom. 

She remembers the encounter earlier when he gave her clothes, and she asked a couple of questions. “Oh, didn’t you say there’s no mission today?”

He nods. “Precisely. That’s why I’m confused.”

She sighs because she doesn’t know what to say- not until she words something that probably sparks a change. “Just be careful. I know you’ve said he’s sinister or something, and it still creeps me out how he knows just about _everything_ that goes on around the city.”

“Of course, love.” He smiles- one she’s never seen worn on his face before. “He’s the epitome of evil,” he responds, “I’d know that,” he mutters after that walking past her. “Treat yourself to whatever. You know where everything is.”

She nods, though she knows she won’t be touching anything… unless it’s the washroom. She can’t keep that in- like, it’s bad for the bladder and all. “Bye.”

“Goodbye, Swan.”

For some reason, fear creeps up in her stomach. It’s not a good sign, she knows, but if she does know one thing, it’s that he’s good at taking care of himself. She does notice his change in attitude, how he keeps to himself with the details he seems unwilling to share. It's perfectly normal though, because she doesn't deserve to know his life story, and he doesn't deserve to know hers- actually, he _sort of_ does. He's given her a handful of reasons to trust him now. Its just she refuses to believe in that, when he has already clearly acknowledged he made a mistake, and that he's sorry.

It's just her being dumb and indecisive.

She's really unsure about the pull she feels toward him. It's like holding onto a rope, and she either let's go, or continues to hang on and climb until she reaches the top. Emma goes into her new room, and lays on the bed. She grabs the pillow under her head and covers her face with it. Thoughts of Killian circle around in her mind. How does she read him so easily? How does she feel guilt over the stupidest things? How come she reacts every time he smiles at her? 

Simple. She's falling for him- surely, but slowly.

And it frightens her. She doesn’t want to love him, to like him, but he’s offered her so much, how exactly can she feel nothing? It’s not a question to answer, because she knows the answer herself. She doesn’t deserve him. A man this generous to a _thief_ , to an _acquaintance_ does not deserve woman who lives off stolen goods.

But her feelings can’t be ignored. _She_ can’t ignore them. And, she doesn’t want to lead him on with false hope, even if she feels like she wants him. Even if she wants to kiss him, or feel him hold her, it can’t happen. He’s a killer, she’s a thief.

They’re two separate jobs. Two different motives. Two _different_ people.

If she’s a thief, she’s a thief. She’s not going to get mixed up with her own stupid feelings. She’s not going to let this interfere with her life.

_But a life isn’t worth living if you’re not being happy, huh?_

What if she feels happy with _him?_

Before she can continue thinking about it, she throws the pillow off to the side. Her arms hang over the edge of the bed, and she’s staring at the greyed ceiling. “What the actual fuck is wrong with _me_?”

/-/-/-/-/-/

When he walks out of his apartment, he takes a moment to just breathe. For one, he finally made his move on her and… partially explained the truth- it’s going to take a lot of time to admit everything, and he doesn’t know if he’ll even get the chance to. And, now they’re both living under the same ceiling, in the same apartment, within feet of each other.

But, it’s the things she’s said that leaves him unable to think straight. It’s the things he hopes she will say one day that leaves him further incapable of handling his own self.

_I mean, well, sort of? You’re giving me a bed to sleep on, I think that’s enough for me to feel good about being here._

_Just be careful._

Is this her way of returning the favour? Worrying for him? If it is, he likes it, and he won’t be complaining. He likes hearing her ask for him to be careful, he likes hearing her imply that he’s a reason for her staying in New York instead of jumping a bus and leaving. 

He pulls his sleeve up to check the time, and he has ten minutes to get to Gold before he probably punishes him for being late. He doesn’t want to be punished, not by that man- not by the man who has killed more than he has. Not by the man who orders him around all the time already. Because, by every nerve in his body, he wants to stand up and fight against him- for so many reasons- but, he can’t. He has to back down, but until he can go against him, he has to obey his every command. He has to be his dog- his pet.

Killian considers all the reasons he could be being called for. A sudden change in plans? Something new to introduce? They all sound reasonable, but definitely not up to his reputation.

Every few minutes, he looks down at his watch, and now, he has two minutes to get in there, through the darkness, and to confront him. Something he’s already fond of, but will never be really used to, because he dreads working for him. 

“Ah, you’ve arrived just on time.”

“Aye.”

“Do you have any clue why I’ve called you here?”

“No, I do not,” Killian sternly responds.

“But, alas, this is the time where I tell you why,” he says, approaching him. “What exactly were you thinking having your little _friend_ join you with your contract?”

“What?” he replies, acting confused. _Lie, just lie._

“You think that little earpiece was going to do much, Mr. Jones? Have you forgotten who supplied those to you in the first place?”

And then it hit him. He rigged the earpiece (as it was all along), and he was listening in on everything. He knew about that night. “She needed the money, Gold,” Killian protests, clenching his fists. “That was all.”

“And you decided to get her into our entire little organization by having her participate in the very activities that could result in us getting caught? How shallow of you,” Gold responds, looking at him in the eyes. “I’d like to warn you, if this ever happens again, I think you’ll have to rid her.”

“That is not going to happen, sir.”

He laughs- like a fucking craze- and the edge of his lips curl. “And why not? She is clearly affecting your performance, and your behaviour. It’s written all over your face, just like it was _two years_ ago.”

Killian clenches his jaw in frustration. He would really like to punch him in the face, but that would result in worse consequences. “I’m _not_ going to kill _her_. I will assure you she will keep out of our deals.” He pushes all possible historical thoughts out of his mind, and focuses on Swan.

“I will give you one more chance. If anything of the sort ever happens again, you will be paying for it, just like how _Milah_ did,” the old man threatens.

“Don’t bring her into this!” he snaps, taking a step forward. “She was miserable, _she_ came to me. _You_ killed her. _You_ didn’t _love_ her like the man she _wanted_ ,” Killian rants, his eyes burning at the edge, his face muscles tensing up. “And if you had chosen love over power, she wouldn’t have _left_ you!”

“Watch your tone, dearie! You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he retaliates. “Take him away.” He waves him off.

Two hands reach and grab onto Killian’s arms, and he’s fighting against them, but two is stronger than one, and he’s pulled out. They kick him out the building, and he stumbles forward. “Bloody bastard,” he mutters in anger, storming off to go home.

When he returns back to the apartment, he slams the front door closed, and locks it before locking himself in his bedroom. He doesn’t care if Swan hears him cursing or if she was caught off by the sudden entrance he made. Right now, he wants solitude, away from everything, and everyone. He hears the banging on his door, probably Swan, but even she can’t stop the rushing blood in his body right now. He just needs time to let loose, to forget every word that came out of Gold’s mouth.

For one, he threatens him, the next he’s intentionally making him lose his temper.

 _Way too show off your weakness_ , he thinks, running a hand through his hair. He’s pacing back and forth in his room, trying to cool down, but it’s not working out to his liking. Gold poses the biggest threat on his life now, and if there’s one thing he wants more than anything, it’s his life. He wants to live, to change, to love, to experience things he hasn’t gotten the chance to feel in ages.

“Killian, you gotta come out at some point!”

This woman. She’s got a point, and he knows that. He unlocks his door, and hastily pulls it open and she falls forward onto his chest. "Swan, what do you want?”

She quickly pushes herself off of him, and he’s too late to respond to the accidental contact. “What happened?”

“Gold is what happened,” he mutters.

“No shit sherlock. What did he say or do, that made you this angry?” she asks, furrowing her brows. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, Swan, he didn’t. But he will.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense, Killian.”

He takes in a deep breath, closes his eyes, and gulps. “He’s threatened us. He knows of your involvement, and he said if he catches us doing it again- which he will- he will make me kill you. I refused to abide, and I told him that I would keep you out of it.”

“There must be more than that… You seem like you’re about to blow up the entire building,” she states. “There’s more.”

Perceptive she is. He opens his eyes and sighs. “Nothing for you to be concerned about. But I apologize once again for judging you because of our problem with the earpiece.”

She shakes her head. “What does that have anything to do with this?”

“I should have believed you. Gold rigged that bloody earpiece before he had given it to me a couple of weeks ago. It was like he _knew_ this was all going to happen!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no way he could have anticipated that I would barge into your life one day,” she calmly says, crossing her arms. “Don’t let him get to your head, man. That’s how he’s trying to torture you now, because whatever you’re not willing to tell me, I see it in your eyes. You’re in pain, you’re lost, and infuriated. That’s _exactly_ what he wants to happen, and you’re letting it consume you.”

He doesn’t know where these words of wisdom came from, but it’s calming him down in a way he’s never expected before. His heartbeat is no longer thudding against his chest like it’s about to burst, and all the blood rushing to his head is slowly dispersing back to its original state. 

“You’re right,” he finally says. “I should have known better that he was toying with me.”

“Hey, it’ll be alright,” she assures him. “Now, go take a shower or something to calm down. And do not think about it, think of something better. Like… puppies or something, whatever you like.”

Killian huffs out a laugh. “Horrible advice, love.”

“Look, I sorta ran out of advice after telling you to to not fall for his game, can you blame me for that?”

“No, I should thank you for it instead.”

“Go shower,” she says, pulling him by the hand. “Seriously.”

Awfully confused, he's curious of her motives. “Why are you so insistent for having me go shower, Swan? Do I smell bad?”

“No, I want you to _relax_. Plus, I don’t want to shower first because it’s going to be cold. So on that note, go take a hot shower.”

“So you want me to warm the shower up for _you_?" he asks for clarification.

"Stop pushing this on me! I haven't had a good clean in ages, so just go do it before I throw a lamp at you for being so annoying."

He groans in defeat, and goes to grab some new clothes from his drawers. "Alright, I’ll go shower."

"Finally," she mumbles. 

He hears the door close (most likely her new room), and he slips into the washroom to go shower. He keeps her words close to heart, because she’s told him some quite significant things. Gold wants him to get angry, he wants him to lose his temper, and he’s simply falling into his hands again- not like he isn’t already in his hands.

By the time he strips all his clothes off, he does as he’s told, taking a hot shower. He’s able to keep his mind off of Gold, but not off Swan.

As much as the days time of knowing each other should be a turn-off in terms of the attraction, it isn’t. He wants to know her more, spend more time with her. When he first offered Swan the room, he was terrified. Now that she’s here, it’s probably going to help him a lot more than he has anticipated. If she is capable of calming him down that easily from his outrage, then she’s a lot more useful to him- which means him wanting to _learn_ her more.

Killian doesn’t want it to be a short-term thing, he wants it to go on. He wants the forever, and he’s always thought about never loving another woman again, not after Milah- but, Swan… she’s different, and he doesn’t know what it is about her anymore, but he does know one thing-

He is definitely falling for her, too fast for comfort, but he can’t help it.

He’s out of the shower, drying himself off, as he looks in the mirror to see the light bags under his eyes. That’s right, he thinks, I haven’t had a good sleep the past week. So, he strives to have a good sleep tonight, or at least try to. This time, he will clear his head, forget just about all the problems showing in his life, and remember that he’s only as much of a human is as anyone. 

Killian gets dressed, grabs an extra towel out and hangs it on the holder for her, and leaves the washroom. He takes a couple steps down to the right, and bangs on her door. “Your turn, Swan! Towel is out and ready for you to use.”

“Thanks,” she says, opening the door and walking past him. “Did the shower help?”

He nods with a smile. “Aye, it did.” He leaves out the details in his mind that concern her. _Too early,_ he repeats in his mind.

“Good.” 

As he watches the washroom door close, he imagines some things that probably shouldn’t be imagined. He smiles and shuts the door to his room, letting himself fall back on the door. He glances through the dark bedroom to the fake closet that stores all his weapons.

He’s now beginning to wonder if this constant pursuit of killing people he doesn’t even know is worth it. He’s starting to doubt Gold’s motives too, with why he wants all these people dead, and why he doesn’t do it himself.

It’s just wrong. But, _time._ he needs time to dictate his decision first. He doesn’t want to make a mistake, to regret everything that could possibly happen. He needs to take it slow with Swan, and just keep doing what Gold wants. But, he knows one thing, he’s definitely not breaking a deal. Swan deserves everything, and since the lass is strong, he knows she can take care of herself. If she’s been doing this for a long time, then it’s safe for him to assume that she can keep herself well.

The concern isn’t even only because of Gold, it’s his own self as well. In addition, if he’s not mistaking anything, she cares too- but she’s only in some discovery stage. Maybe there is a bit of hope for them, but it’s too early to tell, and he doesn’t want to be the one pushing her into anything. He doesn’t want to be the one who fucks everything up.

And god, he does not want Mr. Gold to have a say in his life. It’s his life to live, and he won’t be shackled to his demands. Perhaps conditions will improve within months time. It’s time that he needs anyways.

* * *

**2 MONTHS LATER**

Conditions of their deal doesn’t change. Swan gets the valuables, Killian does the killing and protecting if needed. Gold isn’t interfering, nor does he seem to notice as much as he usually does. This should probably worry him, but that’s the last thing on his mind.

It’s a new day, a new night, in the dusk of New York City. He’s all dressed up, in a gray 3 piece suit undercover at a grand party. Getting in is easy, but getting out? Not so easy.

The alarms are going off, and he’s taking three steps down at a time down a large set of stairs. People are running around, escaping in different directions out of the mansion. Killian is usually subtle, he usually keeps all of his kills subtle, but the bodyguards of Mr. Perkins were a lot more than adept with their skills. 

He avoids as many bullets as possible as he descends the stairs, keeping himself close to the other side to be in their blind spots. Killian finds his way to turn a corner when he’s at the bottom, and he hides behind a pillar. He pulls his trusty pistol out. The crumbling parts of the pillar being shot is dropping to the floor, getting his fancy, shiny dress shoes completely dirty.

He takes a couple of shots at the men in black, occasionally downing one or two of them. But more of them keep flooding in, and he’s going to run out of ammo eventually. When gunfire stops, he sprints across the room in haste, reaching some more stable cover behind a… kitchen counter? How did he end up in the kitchen? Well, at least he has stronger defense now.

When he turns to go around the counter, he meets a face and instinctively elbows them in the side. Bad mistake made on his part.

_Swan._

“Bloody hell,” he mutters. “I thought I told you to keep out of this one!” he yells at her over the gunshots.

“Thought you needed backup,” she urges out, holding her ribcage. “I don’t think it’s going to work so well now, Killian.”

“Fuck, did I hurt you lass?”

She nods slowly, turning her head toward him. “You elbowed me in the side pretty hard, idiot.”

“You have to escape. It won’t be long until the police swarms this place and we’re both caught,” he says. “Run, I’ll cover you.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll manage.”

She shakes her head, probably not the satisfactory answer she wants, but he doesn’t have the time to talk. “How are you so sure?”

“I know it’s not the time to talk, but I’d do anything to get back to you,” he mutters, leaning over to take a shot which kills one man. “Swan, just _go_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just know that within the time skip of two months, they haven't acted on their feelings. They've kept it mutual, as friends- nothing more, nothing less.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Things get serious._

Particularly angry at the failure of being quiet with the mission, he’s still stuck in the middle of a gunfight with approximately ten other men either blindly firing pistols, or spraying an assault-rifle. If Gold sent him in to die, it’s a very probable outcome he’s not willing to deny. The sound is ringing in his ears, but he remembers he only has one other thing up his sleeve as an escape plan.

Swan reluctantly left successfully, and he hopes she’s made her way back to the apartment by now. If he is to die, well- _don’t finish the thought, Killian! Fight._

He’s fighting. He reaches to his back, a bomb on his belt. This bomb would either save him, or lead him to his death.

 _It’s worth a shot_ , he thinks to himself, pulling the trigger on it and throwing it out. The smoke quickly starts to fill the room up, and gunfire stops. This gives him the only open opportunity to run, so he does. He quickly rushes around the counter, past all the men, through the multiple doorways until he reaches the front entrance. 

(“Catch him!”

“He’s getting away! Morons, run after the guy!”)

Killian ignores all the voices, jumping through the front doors. He stumbles forward a bit, almost tripping. His eyes scan the area, looking for his car. Once he spots it, he sprints toward it, pulling the keys stuffed in the bottom of his pockets. By the time he’s swung the door open and sitting inside starting the car up, the men are closing in.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mumbles, jamming his foot on the accelerator as he turns the wheel.

The car is speeding up, the black BMW driving quickly down the streets of New York- it’s a literal chase like the movies. 

At some point, he ditches the car and decides to hide in the shadows, running between narrow alleys, and shoving boxes stacked at the side of the building down to block their paths. They’re yelling things that he can’t quite make out, because between his breathing and the sound of tumbling over wooden crates, and shoving past a bunch of people yelling at him, he isn’t exactly thinking about anything except living and escaping.

He’s exhausted, and running out of breath by the time he loses them. He looks up, realizing the light that’s on at the very top of the apartment. Killian starts to climb the ladder to the first layer of the fire escape, before he’s slowly ascending the stairs. He’s out of breath, but he needs to get up there to make sure Swan is doing okay.

After ten minutes- which felt like hell to him- climbing up the fire escape, he’s dying to get a good breath. He knocks on the window, one hand resting on the ledge of the window while his head dangles.

She opens the window up, staring him down. “What the hell?”

He huffs out an empty laugh. “Hello there, love,” he breathes out, straightening his posture up. “Would you mind helping me inside?”

She opens her mouth up, but purses her lips together, and helps him inside. He swings his left leg over the edge before she closes the window. He collapses on the bed with his eyes closed, his chest heaving up and down. “Apologies about the abrupt entrance.”

“I thought you were going to die.”

“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning up on his elbows. “Your side, I mean.”

She glances down and shrugs. “Sort of. It’s bruised,” she says. “But are _you_ okay? You seem like you’re about to pass out, and I don’t want to see that happen right now.”

He nods, unable to spit the words out yet because he’s still trying to calm his heartbeat down, and the pounding ache in his head is gradually finding a way to irritate him.

“You need water,” she mutters before she shuffles out the door. She returns with a glass of water, handing it to him. 

He quickly takes it from her, chugging the entire thing in one go. “I’m good. But this headache is not going to go away anytime soon.”

“You should probably… ya know change,” she suggests, pointing at his clothing. She quickly goes back to the kitchen and dumps the glass in the sink and returns. “And, you probably should have gotten rid of that tie before running for your life.”

Killian glances down at his clothes, realizing he is still in the suit. “Right,” he responds, handing her the empty glass. “I should go do that now.” He pushes himself off the bed, and nearly trips- okay, maybe his legs are just a _bit_ too sore after all the running. 

She pulls him by the arm. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he answers blatantly, scratching behind his ear. “Headache and fatigue is all.”

“Okay buddy, look your bedroom is like three steps away from mine, do you think you can manage that?”

“I’m not broken, Swan. But I do like the fact you’re helping me,” he admits, flashing a grin at her. “So, help me get to bed, aye?”

“What about your clothes?” she asks, dragging him along.

He follows her movements in synch, being dropped on the bed. “I’m sure we can fix that up, huh, Swan?”

“Are you insisting that I help you change?” she replies as if she’s disgusted. Killian nods with a chuckle. “You arrogant douche. You’re changing yourself. I’d rather not be mixed up with all that.”

He smirks. “You can’t handle it.”

“Perhaps _you_ can’t handle it, idiot.” She sighs and rolls her eyes. “First, you elbowed me in the side, next you’re trying to get me to strip you of your clothes.”

“Take the jacket off, Swan, that’s all I ask for,” he pleads as he tugs on his tie to loosen it up.

The silence grows until she decides to break it. “Nah,” she mocks, and leaves the room, leaving him to himself.

Killian smiles and sighs, falling back on his bed, the slight bounce relaxing him. The headache is still there, but is slowly subsiding, which is a good thing. But, his body is still horribly sore- his legs are throbbing with all the effort of sprinting and making risky movements, and his hands are tired from gripping so tightly onto a gun. He’s never felt so tense before, so rushed, so frightened.

He wants his life more than anything. Yet, he’s still surviving after dangerous missions, so perhaps he should just be called a survivor.

“Killian!”

“What?”

He listens to her feet slide down the hallway. “We’re outta food.”

“I suppose we need to make a trip to the supermarket tomorrow,” he responds, his voice raspy and tired. “Close my door, please.”

“Okay.”

“Wait,” he stops, “are you _sure_ your side is okay, darling?”

She scoffs. “It’s fine, Killian. Stop worrying about me, and get rest.”

It’s not his fault- okay, maybe it is his fault- he just feels a tad bit bad for elbowing her side that hard. He knows how hard of an impact he can make, and if he could recall that moment, he remembers he nearly swung his pistol down for a shot too. Good thing he noticed the blonde hair before he decided to.

“Goodnight, Swan,” he mumbles, closing his eyes.

She hums a response, as he listens to the door close. He kicks his dress shoes off, and swings his feet up onto the bed and gets comfy.

* * *

Gullible.

Emma nearly fell for his little tricks, asking for her to assist with the removal of his clothes. She could have taken up that offer. She _should_ have taken up that offer. The man really does wonders to her, and though she knows she shouldn’t even be thinking of it, she’s just feeling the relief.

When he told her to just run, when he told her he would find a way back to her, something really struck her deep down. She’s never had a good friend, or anyone really. But with the way he said it, some sort of _hope_ and _assurance_ , she had finally hesitantly left him to fight off on his own while he defended her.

She had never been caught amidst in gunfire. Now, she can say she has.

But she hated the way her blood was rushing around in her body. She hated how she felt heat pool up in her stomach when she left the large mansion. She hated how fast her heart was beating.

Now, she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t mind because he returned. She doesn’t mind because he came back like he said. And something about that just keeps the fire in her heart lit. She sighs as she turns the lamp in her bedroom off before plopping down on the bed. It’s not even worth thinking about anymore. She doesn’t need the reminder that he could have died, and that she was in every right to stay there and be by his side instead of following his orders and running.

Emma knows him though. He survives. Always does, always will. One day, it might be proven wrong, but at the moment, she doesn’t want to think of that. She knows he’s in bed resting, she knows he is suffering from a small headache, and she knows he’s doing perfectly fine since he’s been busy flirting with her, and making the usual innuendos.

That’s right… Two months into their little deal, and things are going quite smoothly. That is if you consider Gold still being suspicious not much of a threat, but otherwise, everything is going well. She hopes it will stay that way, but she knows it won’t last any longer. Not after tonights events. She’s about 99% sure Killian is going to get a damn long lecture about how he _should_ have successfully eliminated the target. No matter how many times she wonders how much of a man his boss is, she just knows he’s a total maniac with this stuff.

There’s at least five attacks each week, which is… ridiculous. How many people has Killian killed in his lifetime?

 _Okay, not a good time to think about that_ , she reminds herself, turning onto her side in bed. She flips and turns in bed until she falls asleep.

The pain in her side suddenly erupts into something more, for like the fifth time. She’s been lying to him, saying she’s okay, but she’s technically not. She’s hiding it. Being stubborn as per usual. She groans and sits up in bed, rubbing the side of her ribs. The skin has already turned dark, but it hurts when she touches it.

“Swan, are you alright?”

His voice startles her, and she looks up to see his head peeking through the door. It’s dark, she can barely see his features, but she can see the outline of his head. And his blue eyes. Those familiar, caring eyes that never fail to make her scream inside.

“Fine, totally fine,” she responds, faking a smile. “Can’t sleep is all.”

“I don’t like being lied to, love.”

“I’m not lying,” she replies, trying to enforce her lies against him.

“Yes you are,” he insists, opening the door. He limps inside and perches on the edge of her bed. “Just tell me, won’t you?”

“Damn it,” she curses under her breath. “I’m not okay. My side hurts whenever I touch it, and whenever I roll around in bed- because for some reason I can’t stay positioned very long in one spot- it stings,” she confesses, the words tumbling straight out of her mouth.

“Are you daft, Swan? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he asks. She immediately notices the concern clouding over his voice.

Emma shrugs, and reaches over to turn the lamp on. “I wanted you to be fine first, and at the moment, I wasn’t in pain.” A grunt of pain comes from her as she settles back with her head against the wall. “As you can tell,” she adds in.

“Gods, Swan, let me see it. Perhaps I can see if I’ve broken a rib or not,” he demands, shifting closer toward her. “Remind me to check who I hit before I hit them,” he jokes.

A smile appears on her face as she lifts her shirt up- time to stop running away from him, and lying. While he examines the bruise, the tips of his fingers hover above the injury, and she feels the weird sensation flow through her. He’s gentle with his touch, and she can feel it above everything else that is coursing through her blood and veins right now. 

“Breathing doesn't hurt, right?”

She shakes her head. “No. Only when I touch it, or apply pressure,” she answers, wincing as he pushes with a bit more force. “Just like that,” she whispers, her voice hitching slightly.

“Nothing’s broken, but it will be like this for awhile longer,” he says softly. “Swan, I really am sorry.”

“Stop being sorry for making a mistake. And, you know, you deserve a little something,” she says. It takes her a second to say it, but she does. “Emma.”

“Excuse me?” he asks, his head tilting to the side.

She takes a deep breath in and lets it out before she chokes on it. She’s willing to do this. She’s ready, and it’s time to take a step forward. She’s known his name all along, it’s time for him to know hers, to real her. “My name. Emma. Emma Swan.”

“Emma,” he repeats to himself. “Well, Emma, do you think you can sleep tonight?”

“Depends.”

“What? The pain too much to handle, love?”

She scoffs and shakes her head at how much he can make her even laugh in the bad moments. “I’ve had a lot more pain than this little bruise before. It’s just been awhile, that’s all. Elbow me a couple more times, and I probably won’t be as much as a baby the next time around.”

“Hah hah, it sounds like you’re asking for an invitation to be hurt,” he responds sarcastically.

“Only you would take it that serious to an extent,” she mutters, slipping down into the bed. “I think I’ll be getting some sleep now, if I can. By the way, did you hear me earlier? ‘Cause you just conveniently popped in like you knew something was up.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Was using the loo,” he plainly states. He leans down, _closely_ , and places a kiss on her forehead which catches her off guard, he’s never done it before, so why’s he starting it now? A question to ask another time. He turns the lamp off which snaps her out of her thoughts. “Good night, Swan.”

“You know my first name, yet you still choose the surname,” she mumbles.

He shrugs and stands up, moving toward the door. “Honestly, it sounds more fitting on you, love.” With that, the door shuts quietly, and she’s laying in bed with her eyes closed, trying to remember the feeling of his lips on her forehead.

It’s disturbing her. Making her guts stir. Whatever it is, she wants it to stop, but then she also wants the feeling to stay a little bit longer. Honestly, she could stay up all night thinking about Killian’s lips on her forehead- which is just… slightly creepy- since she has been realizing her feelings for him are slowly getting stronger each time.

Every evening she returns home, he greets her with a smile. Every time, they plan to shower accordingly so she gets to go after he does. Every time he decides to make dinner or breakfast, he knows _exactly_ what she wants.

It’s as if they’ve been friends for longer than they have. It’s closing to three months, but to be honest, it’s been the best three months of her life. Not only does the thrill of looting bodies make her feel great, but sleeping in an actual bed, occasionally waking up for a cup of coffee, and returning to a place she wants to consider as her home… it’s slowly becoming a part of her life. And she wants it to last, she wants to savour every moment, because she doesn’t know when something could happen.

Being a thief, and definitely being an assassin isn’t the best position to procure. Consequences are always in order, but she always finds herself worrying more about him than herself. 

Which is odd. 

Emma’s looked out for herself for 27 years, yet now, she’s here worrying about a man she has feelings for, whom she’s only known him for three months. It’s a change in the tide, she could say. If kissing her forehead isn’t a sign of attraction, or a move on her, then maybe she’s got it all wrong. But for some reason, she knows everything is right. She knows Killian is willing to care for her no matter the circumstance, because he’s proven himself to be more of a gentleman than she’ll ever know.

The feeling of his lips on her forehead never leaves her, and she doesn’t intend to leave it behind. She wants more, but still, she’s slightly unsure about her feelings.

Stubborn to embrace them, just as the usual anyways. It’s not surprising. Yet, Killian seems to be handling it better than she is, and it distracts her. She stirs in her sleep, but it’s not enough to make herself wake up. She doesn’t want to wake up, because she’s having a nice dream. A happy life, one that she desires, yet will probably never have.

But, Killian… he makes her happy in a way. In a lot of ways. Unimaginable ways, ridiculous ways even. Just knowing he’s in a room three steps away from her makes her want to smile. Weird, yeah, but it’s the truth, and she’s slowly acknowledging it at least.

Before she knows it, her mind shuts off, and it lets her go to sleep.

/-/-/-/-/-/

The next morning, her eyes creak open to the sound of footsteps. She pulls the covers off and swings her feet off. With a yawn, and tears coming from her eyes because of how tired she still is, she opens the door and finds herself smelling the faint scent of coffee.

But, she decidedly turns back into her room and curls back into bed. She is worn out for some reason, and she just wants to be with the comfort of the soft bed sheets, and her lovely pillow. She can’t go back to sleep, but what she can do is stay in bed for longer, not having to do anything- which includes not bringing any attention to the injury which still lays at the side of her torso.

And it doesn’t bother her when he walks in with a cup and sets it on the dark wood end table. It doesn’t bother her when he smiles and says ‘good morning.’ It doesn’t bother her when he asks how she’s feeling, and she answers with a simple response that’s mundane.

“You are not going out until that bruise heals,” he tells her, sipping his coffee. “Especially because it's not a story worth telling. I’m positive Robin would slap me for it once he hears,” he jokes.

She wants to bang her head on the door at how protective he’s being about it. “You know I can do plenty of things that don’t interfere with the injury,” she says, yawning. “You should know me and being confined. I can only stay cooped up for so long before I have the urge to go run. Thief life, instincts, morals, habits. Old habits die hard, you know?”

Killian is glaring at her, and she sips her coffee casually, then setting it back down on the side. He sighs and scratches the back of his head. “Sorry, Swan…” he begins, “But you are staying in this apartment until that damned thing heals itself.”

“Holy fucking shit, you are like the bane of my existence right now,” she mutters, the coffee meeting her lips as she swallows it. “Killian, please?”

He finishes his coffee and shakes his head. “No, no you are not getting out of this one.”

She pouts, but her whining isn’t going to work on him. Her timid behaviour and façade is something he can see through, so… goodbye, plan.

Besides… the only place she really wants to go to is The Rabbit Hole. Get a couple of drinks and hang around, since Robin has slowly began to like her a bit more. Turns out he likes to keep his word and stuff, obviously someone worth being Killian’s friend. And then, then there was the other drunken clown, Will Scarlet. He’s stumbled into the bar a couple of times, usually doing whatever he does- okay, she doesn’t exactly pay attention to him. She’s either working on her skills with darts, talking with Killian if he’s there, or even with Robin.

Considering them all friends can be overwhelming to her. She’s not had a single friend, now, she has… three. Time to time, there would be this upbeat, brunette with a couple of red streaks in her hair that would visit with another guy.

Honestly, she’s meeting a couple of new people, but she’s still self-reserved. Limits herself to Killian and Robin at the most. No word needs to go about how she’s a thief, otherwise her reputation would not be one she’d like… ever. No one would accept her for who she is, with the exception Killian and Robin.

“Hey, I just noticed this but, you’re not wobbling as if you’re drunk on your legs,” she says, bringing the attention to the previous night on how he was claiming to be very sore. “Sleep well?”

“Primarily, I did sleep soundly. The soreness is still very evident, but I can manage,” he supplies, shrugging the idea off. “Perhaps I need to work out a bit more.”

“Well, you’re not a cross-country runner or anything, don’t blame yourself that bad,” she says, with a hint of playful tone in it as well. “Me on the other hand…”

“Are you mocking me, Swan?” 

She scoffs. “No,” she mumbles, hiding the fact she is making fun of him. Not that she knows how much he did run last night, but it’s safe to say he did a lot of running and escaping.

“Bad form, love. Very bad form,” he claims, taking her empty cup. “But, you need rest. Just about ten minutes ago, I noticed you walk out and retreat back to bed.”

Just how does he know this? “How in the world-”

“I’m quite perceptive and always alert, similarly like your thief senses gained from being on the run so often,” he interrupts, his eyebrow arching up. “Don’t forget who I am, Swan.”

“Right,” she mutters and rolls her eyes- big ego, get used to that. “Have fun with Gold today.”

“Gods, do not mention that man to me. Nearly sent me out to die last night, I will not be prepared for whatever he has stored for my sorry arse.”

* * *

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , he thinks after he retreats back to his room. He kissed her forehead, and usually, she would complain about personal space, but this time, she didn't protest. _Maybe she was too tired to care_ , he tells himself, trying to find an excuse out of his actions. But, even if she is a thief who has been on the streets for ages, her skin is soft, and he wonder more about her body.

And, she didn't protest when he checked injury. Hearing her wince the pain, flinching to his touch, he really wants to apologize five hundred times for fucking up, except she would never permit that.

But, after using the washroom and beating himself for hurting her, he falls asleep quickly because he's too tired to think any further. 

Morning rises fast, he doesn't even realize it, but he stretches and gets out of bed. Killian feels the aftermath of sore legs, but he can endure it. For once in his life, he pulls the curtains open, sunlight flooding into the room, the light giving him warmth when it strikes his skin.

Killian realizes he's still in his suit, and he immediately takes it off, switching into black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a blue plaid long sleeve which he curls up to his elbows. He shoves the suit into his closet, deciding to figure out what to do with it later.

After seconds of contemplating, he decides to make himself some coffee. When he walks down the hallway, he thinks of Emma. That's right, she told him her full name. This means she finally trusts him, and thinking about it makes his heart swell- in a good way of course. While he prepares the coffee, he hears the sound of a doorknob click, and he smiles to himself. But, there's no sound coming after that, so he assumes she went back inside her room. 

He makes a second cup of coffee; milk, little sugar.

They talk, casually to say. She doesn't question his motives behind last nights kiss to the forehead and he feels relief. He speaks of his good sleep, she makes fun of him which he starts to get used to and, then she reminds him that he's going to have to pay a visit to Gold later on. Not something he's looking forward to.

Killian goes about his day normally, and so does Emma. He cleans himself up, sorts his weapons out, restocks on ammunition, and then he needs to meet Gold.

To be honest he's worrying about what Gold is going to say to him. He's not gentle, and he's not in a position to put up that much of a fight.

Standing outside the door he inhales a big breath before for he enters. Killian watches as Gold emerges from the shadows, a frustrated face clear. 

"You never learn your lesson, do you Jones?" he ask. "What were you thinking last night?"

"Perhaps you should warn me about a man's security next time," he responds, glancing over to see Golds personal servants in the corners. "I came clean, Gold. What else do you want from a man?"

"I expected better. Especially with that dear girl of yours running around with you again," Gold answers, pointing at him. "I thought you would've learned from your mistakes already. That woman is a danger to us," he claims.

Killian's jaws lock as he watches and listens to Gold's accusations. "I told you she's not apart of this."

"Quite the contrary, dearie. Your performance has been dropping ever since you met her," he explains his observation, "I gave you your chances, Jones. More than what you deserved. So, as your employer, I give you two choices."

Without having to ever hear him say it yet, Killian knows the two options. Gold doesn’t give out easy options, so he knows he will be torn between two options which are going to be difficult. And, if Killian isn’t mistaken, it’s either going to be him, or Emma.

“You have seven days to decide whether you or your friend dies. If you don’t have an answer by then, I’m afraid I will find her myself,” he threatens, offering him the deal. 

“This is unfair, Gold,” Killian retorts, stepping forward. “You can’t just decide the fate of our lives!”

He laughs, his lips curling into that evil smile of his. “Then you should have been more careful when you met her. You should have killed her by your hands when you had the chance to,” Gold counters. “Unfortunately for you, everything comes down to your own decision.”

“No. You’re a bloody monster, Gold!” Killian shouts, the anger presenting itself. “I will not let you hurt her, especially not after what you did to Milah. Swan doesn’t deserve to die!”

“Go sulk in tears then, dearie. You have seven days,” he finally says, leaving the room.

Killian is left standing there in shock, too terrified to even turn around and run, or even yell at the man who’s already out the door doing whatever business he is doing again. Nothing can really describe the emotions that are coursing through his veins at the moment. Nothing can describe the thoughts- horrible thoughts- making their way into his mind right now. Nothing can stop the man behind the beast now, because he has seven days.

Seven _fucking_ days.

Killian slams the door as he leaves, and drops by Robin’s bar. Turns out Robin isn’t running the place tonight. _Good_ , he thinks to himself. The bartender tends to every drink he wants, mostly glasses of rum, and by the time the guy tells him it’s enough, Killian is persistent for more. But, the man forces him out, which leaves him to go home.

It’s the first time in months he’s soaked himself in glasses of rum, but honestly, with the heavy taste of alcohol burning his throat, the weird feeling in his stomach going in flames, he doesn’t care. This is the point in his life where he wants to be on a plane, pull out a parachute and just jump and float through all the clouds as if nothing’s wrong. But things always go wrong, especially around Gold, and now that he’s threatened him and Emma, he’s not going to be getting a good sleep for a couple of days.

Or a good sleep at all.

He’s not thinking straight at all- he is drunk, but he is pretty tolerant of alcohol- while he walks back to the apartment with his head down, not paying attention to the people he accidentally bumps into, or when he steps on plastic garbage littered on the floor. Killian slowly climbs the stairs, occasionally stumbling a bit, but he eventually gets to the top floor, standing in front of his own door. But, at this moment, he’s losing his mind as he finds himself falling deeper into the effects of being sloshed. When he scrambles into the apartment, he scares Emma for a second.

“You’ve been out all day, what the hell happened?”

“Nothing,” he slurs, leaning against the wall. 

Emma scoffs, because apparently she can tell easily. “Oh, so you went off to drink away your problems? I wonder how that went,” she teases, turning the corner from the kitchen.

Except, Killian isn’t in the mood to deal with any jokes or games. He isn’t in the mood to do anything, but he’s also not being mindful of how he’s talking because he can’t control his mouth while he’s drunk. “Emma,” he says, “have I ever told you how much of a beauty you are?”

A pause grows between the both of them until she breaks the silence. ’“Okay, you’re totally drunk,” she says, approaching him. 

“Nooo,” he retaliates, bring his hand up to stop her. “I’m not.”

“Yes, yes you are. And, before you start to protest about being sober, which you clearly aren’t, I’m getting you into bed before you pass out,” she enforces, pulling him by the arm.

Killian is being helped into his room, but in the hallway, he stops abruptly and pins her against the wall, unknowingly making a move on her without her permission.

She looks at him like he’s crazy. “Killian, _stop_.”

He blinks a couple of times at her response, the realization hitting him immediately. “Emma, I’m sorry,” he apologizes, rubbing his face. “I’m… I‘m going to bed,” he mutters, pushing himself off from the wall and wobbles into his room, closing the door and collapsing on his bed.

That isn’t exactly what he expected to do, but his actions were too quick, and he _nearly_ kissed her. Guilt pours into his mind right before he passes out. Brilliant move, because now he’s probably stepped way past the boundary line this time.

Morning is not going to be good.


	6. Chapter 6

Arm hanging over the edge of his bed, his sheets tangled together, and his pillow on the floor, Killian doesn’t wake up in the best environment. For one, everything in his vision seems hazy until he keeps his eyes open enough to see the light shining into his room.

Next, his body feels horrible. He remembers getting drunk, but he doesn’t remember too much after that, except… Emma. He accidentally went against her.

_Oh no._

He’s not having a good morning. Nope, not having a good one at all. He falls off the edge of his bed when he tries getting out of bed, he throws his pillow angrily back on the bed, and he stomps through the hallway into the empty washroom. When he looks himself in the mirror, he looks physically drained, and his legs are still a bit sore.

While Killian washes his face, he stops midway and stares at the running water coming from the faucet. The water slowly drips down his face, and he has the urge to punch something all of a sudden. He furiously turns the water off and reaches for his towel. Then, he shaves, realizing his beard is getting too thick to his liking- he prefers keeping it short and scruffy.

There’s a knock at the door, and he quickly rinses off the blade and dries his hands. When he swings the door open, it’s Emma obviously, but the tension rises in the air too quickly for his liking. He nods with a small sad smile, and brushes past her and into his bedroom.

He wants to apologize, and he can’t use ‘being drunk’ as an excuse, because it’s the lamest excuse in the book, even if it was true. Gold is getting to his mind, and now there’s a frustrating event between him and Emma as well. His morning could be called bad, but he would consider it total shit. Life can really be a bitch to him.

He grabs a clean gray longsleeve shirt from his closet and throws it onto his bed. He takes off his plaid shirt, and then his black t-shirt which reeks of rum and bars.

The bedroom door swings open. “Killian, I-”

He’s shirtless in front of her, and it’s embarrassing, but he can’t even find anything in himself to care at the moment. He tilts his head to the side to catch a glimpse of her face. “You were saying?”

“I’m gonna go shopping. Since we, uh, didn’t yesterday, and, yeah,” she stammers, pointing her thumb behind her. “Do you, uh, want anything specific?”

Killian sighs and shakes his head. “No, buy what you want,” he tells her, glancing down at long-sleeve on the bed. “Be careful,” he says sincerely, remembering the previous days events with Gold.

“Uh, okay,” she mumbles, and the door closes.

A single moment of eye contact can’t even be held between them, and while he slips his shirt on, he’s cursing internally about how stupid he’s acting. He can simply fix this by apologizing, yet with the moment waiting for him right there ten seconds ago, he _didn’t_ and now he’s going to have to wait until she comes back.

He slumps onto his bed and sighs hopelessly at the thoughts. Maybe he’ll be able to properly apologize when she comes back. He doesn’t like the tension, it’s weird, unfitting, and it distracts him a lot more than it probably should. But, he’s already made up his mind, he does like her, and he doesn’t want any bitter feelings between the two of them.

_Wait, I thought I told her to not go out until her bruise recovers… Bloody woman got me caught up with so many emotions, damn it._

After being scrutinized by Gold, getting drunk, making a bad move while being drunk, and fucking up his relationship with her completely, not a single good message comes out of it for him.

* * *

To be honest, Emma seeing him shirtless, even from behind- the muscular back and all- it scares her (in a good way.) She takes in a deep breath before she speaks, and he doesn’t even bother turning his body to face her. Either he doesn’t want her to look, or he’s just too caught up with… last night.

“I’m gonna go shopping. Since we, uh, didn’t yesterday, and, yeah,” she forces out, stuttering the words with ‘uh’s.’ “Do you, uh, want anything specific?” she manages to ask, swallowing hard as she waits for an answer from him.

“No, buy what you want. Be safe,” he answers plainly. But, she can hear the slight wavering of concern in his voice, and she doesn’t want to question it, because she knows for a fact _he’s_ not exactly in the mood to speak. Especially when they crossed paths ten minutes ago in the washroom.

She doesn’t bring it up, but just acts as if she gets it. “Uh, okay.”

While shopping, she ventures off into sections that she’s never been to. Truth be told, she is a thief, she does steal, but at times like this, she knows it’s best to purchase. As much as she wants to sweep a thing or two off the shelves, she’d rather not. Plus, the place is swarming with other people, so getting away with it would be highly unlikely.

Pushing the cart through aisles, she takes the most basic of items before she lines up. Lining up is boring though, so her mind often drifts to think of Killian; including last night.

She remembers how drunk he was, how he was slurring his words, resisting the fact that he was off from all the alcohol. She remembers how he pressed himself against her, while her back flushed straight against the wall in the hallway. She remembers how a wave of concern flooded her, and as much as she _wanted_ to at that moment, she resisted it and told him to stop. If he was going to kiss her, she’d rather have it be meaningful, or memorable- not because of him being drunk and probably not remembering a single thing. 

After paying with money she stole (kindly repaying into the economy at least), she rolls the cart out, grabs the bags, waves a taxi, and heads back to the apartment. This is the one time she uses the elevator- she is _not_ lugging five plastic bags of food upstairs.

She bangs her shoulder on the door, and after a couple of minutes, she hears the sound of shuffling coming from the other side of the door. It swings open. “Help,” she pleads, gesturing the bags around.

“Just how much did you buy?” he grumbles, taking three of the bags from her hands. His fingers graze hers, and for a moment, she swears she notices him pause for the slightest second before moving on.

She chuckles nervously- damn this tension. “Just about everything need that will last us for another week or two,” she answers, placing the two other bags on the counter. 

He just hums softly as he sorts everything into the fridges and cupboards. She does the same, and they occasionally bump into each other as the spin around. She nearly whacks his head with a can of tomato sauce, and he nearly smacks her in the side with the milk. They both laugh it off, but the thing is, the atmosphere surrounding the two of them is not becoming any lighter, but rather heavier than it should be, and it’s driving her insane.

This time around, it isn’t her fault, she knows that. She was merely trying to help him get into bed, but he lost his mind for a second and made a bad move. _He_ should be the one saying sorry, yet he isn’t, or he doesn’t remember much except the fact he had a bad day yesterday.

She’s never seen him so intoxicated before, so can she even blame him for making a stupid little mistake? It’s not like she hates him for it, honestly, she just wants to get it off her chest, and it probably applies the same to him- hell, she _knows_ it applies to him too. He wants to say something, she can read him easily as usual, but he just hasn’t gotten the guts to do so yet apparently. That’s the go-to reason; he hasn’t gotten the balls to apologize.

And it’s like all the hell in the world just falls on her, because when she stuffs the plastic bags away, he tells her something she doesn’t expect- at least not at that moment.

“Emma, I’m thoroughly sorry about last night. I- I was not my usual self if you hadn’t noticed,” he starts, “Gold had… said some triggering things once again, and I went to the bar to drink it off. I was too angry and frustrated, but after downing several glasses of rum, I cooled down. But,” Killian stops there, taking in a deep breath. “Really, I made a mistake, and I apologize.”

She’s just staring at him, slightly confused by the meaning of ‘triggering things,’ but as usual, she doesn’t pry. “You didn’t need to go all out. Really, a simple ‘sorry’ would have sufficed,” she finally says. And it’s relieving to know he _remembers_ because if he didn’t, the feeling would end up gnawing her inside out, which is not what she wants.

“You know me,” he begins, “I’m quite elaborate.”

“That you are,” she mumbles. “Just so you know, the next time you stumble in drunk on your weak knees, I will probably elbow you in the side. Then I could get away with it,” she taunts, crossing her arms. “You’re quite unbelievable while intoxicated. How much do you remember from last night?”

“I recall your attempt at trying to get me to bed, and what came after.”

“Oh, so you don’t remember calling me a ‘beauty to look at?’ That’s good. You weren’t very smooth, and I wasn’t very convinced about what you were saying anyways,” she mocks him, throwing him a small little grin. “Honestly, it was like you tumbled in out of a hurricane or something, with the exception of rum stank and stupidity.”

“Funny,” he mutters, rounding the corner of the counter to sit on the couch. “But let me say this, you are a beauty to look at,” he chimes, flashing her a genuine smile. “Not that you care.”

Emma is stunned, standing there with her mouth half-open and her eyebrows kneaded together trying to process the words that just came out of his mouth. 

“Are you just going to stand there, love?”

She could just stand there and say nothing. But, he’s looking at her, _boring_ his eyes at her, the blue vibrantly standing out from the neutral colours surrounding them. “Uh, yes? What do you want me to do? Run around?”

“Considering you are a thief, aye.” He leans back against the couch, swinging his arms behind his head, supporting the weight. She notices the smallest change in his facial expression, going from playful and happy, to dead and cold.

For once, she feels that it’s worth bugging him for answers, because noticing something like that even if it was for the shortest of a second, she wants to know what’s bothering him. “Jokes aside… You look troubled. What has Gold done this time?”

“Many things,” he provides a short response, bringing his arms down to his sides. “And I’m afraid it will concern you more than anything, which I wish it couldn’t. If I must explain, I shall, but I do not want you to fret, love,” he answers, his voice lowers into a softer tone by the end of his explanation.

It’s already enough to make her worry her guts out. Her brain is registering all his words, and she’s dying to know what Gold said this time around. “Okay, you’re scaring me. What happened?” she asks, leaning against the edge of the kitchen counter.

“Seven days. Seven days to decide who dies,” he bluntly states, being vague on his choice of words. She doesn’t interrupt him, but stays silent to let him speak. “He wants one of us dead, and he’s _kindly_ provided me seven days to decide me or you. If I don’t have an answer, he’ll locate you and have your head.”

The expression of her face drops into a frown, an immediate fluttering feeling (a really atrocious feeling) taking over the insides of her stomach. “Why didn’t you tell me this morning?”

“Appeared to be horrible timing, and I wasn’t quite in the mood as you saw,” he replies, running a hand through his hair, disheveling it. He lets out a sigh, and looks down at his lap. “Can you blame me? I was uncertain about whether you would even want to talk to me after last night.”

Emma shakes her head, now understanding every detail. “You weren’t at fault. Now I see how much Gold poses a threat.” She pushes herself off from the counter. “I can leave. We don’t need a deal to dictate our death.” She shrugs. “Let him chase me into the depths of the earth until he gives up.”

“Swan, I don’t mean to disappoint you, but we make quite the team. I wouldn’t have the illest desire to have us go our separate ways,” he honestly confesses, narrowing his eyes at her. “And quite frankly, if you were to leave, he’d have _my_ head instead. I’m not quite fond on serving myself to him with such ease because of our decisions.”

“Right. Well, we need to devise a plan that benefits the both of us then,” she suggests, taking a seat next to him on the couch. “You got anything in mind?”

He chuckles and shakes his head in disappointment. “Haven’t got a clue, love.”

“If this was any other situation, I’d totally be up for it, but Gold is really a piss-off, and I hate that he makes you struggle so much, and that he threatens us and intends to have us dead,” she beings rant, “and don’t get me started with your missions either. Some of them are literally like a secret death sentence! How does a man even expect so much?”

Killian shrugs and scratches a spot behind his ear. “Gold is a man who expects perfection due to his place in power. His mass superiority over us gives him the happiness he wants- which I find ridiculous- but as I told him last night, he’s a bloody monster.”

“That I can agree with,” she mutters, letting her head fall back to look at the ceiling. “We can’t run from this.”

He sighs. “I know.”

“Wow, this is going to be harder than I thought.”

“Trust me, Swan, if I had an idea, I would probably have acted by now. The man finds loopholes, so I’m afraid we’re stuck in his hands,” he concedes to the possible defeat.

She looks over at him, seeing the sadness cloud in his eyes, the darkness also gives quite a bit away in his voice. “No, Killian, we’re not losing this fight. We make quite the team, right? Well, we’re fighting against him, whether you want to or not. I think it’s time you stand up against him, and be free. You’ve been under his hand for too long.

“And no, don’t give me some random bullshit trying to deny it, because out of all your friends, _I_ know how badly you want to stop risking your life on these worthless assassination contracts handed out by him. We may only be friends with three months of experiences together, but honestly, _I_ have gotten to know you more than what I had originally intended to get myself into. Yesterday, I couldn’t even find myself to be mad at you with your flirting, and close kiss. You have given me a _home_ , a _friend_ , a _life_ , and I’m not going to stand by and watch your life get flung into deaths eyes, so are you going to give up that easily? Are you going to be a coward?”

Silence grows long between them, he purses his lips together, but he turns to her and shakes his head. “I can’t give up, love. You know that. It’s just rather discouraging to know it could be the end. And, I do not regret a single moment we’ve spent together, and I definitely do not regret sparing your life, or giving you a home.”

She smiles and relaxes back on the couch. “Good, because we’ll figure this out,” she says confidently. “Together.”

“Together it is.”

Maybe she can get used to smiling often now, because no matter what happens, it appears on her face naturally while she hangs around with him. She frowns when he’s in a bad mood, and she laughs when he makes stupid jokes and innuendos.

Living with him is giving her a life she wants to remember, a life worth living. Yes, stealing can be great and pleasurable, but being able to have the simplicity is giving her more of a reason than she needs. Before she’s thought of leaving, now she thinks about _staying_.

* * *

Everything about this should worry him, but with Emma’s encouraging words, confidence, and stubbornness in terms of admitting defeat, it’s actually quite refreshing to him. Swan gives him the courage to do things, to belief to take action. It’s good though, because besides Robin and Will (he’s bloody pointless), he’s never had another person to care for, or have another person care for him. It’s a change in life he’s willing to accommodate, and he’s not complaining.

When she tells him they will do it ‘together,’ he feels the warmth take over him. It's a sensation he wants to experience more often, and he knows the only reason he feels it is because of Emma. The last time he’s felt like a teenager with a crush that seems idiotic, was back with Milah.

It's a dark, heavy void that has taken its time to occupy a space in his heart, but he realizes Emma is slowly filling it up- patching it as if it’s a wound. She’s a thief who has stolen his heart, him being the willing victim to fall into her hands.

Now, he’ll have seven rough days ahead of him- six if you don’t include today. 

They’re sitting next to each other, both staring at nothing; just thinking, floating through the millions of concerning thoughts that control their minds. Killian just wants to savour moments like these before the next big crisis with Gold comes up.

“Hey, Killian?”

“Aye, love?”

“I don’t think I’ve said this yet, but-”

“Don’t. I know what you want to say, love, but say it once we get out of this alive.”

“Nope, I’m gonna say it because you deserve to know ahead of time. And just so you know, I need-”

“Emma,” he sternly warns. He turns to look at her with a raised eyebrow, darting his tongue out to lick his bottom lip.

She sighs. “Are you going to continue to cut me off mid-sentence because you _don’t_ want me to say it?”

“Are you going to continue to be persistent about it?”

She laughs- and that’s probably the first time he’s ever heard her laugh like that. Ever. “Probably,” she responds, inching a bit closer to him. “If you could just let me get it over with, then perhaps we won’t have to have this conversation later.”

After a second thought about it, he sighs in defeat. “Aye, I suppose you’re right,” he mutters. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hear it, but he’s not in the most happiest mood at the moment.

“Thank you for letting me speak, and, thank you for everything you’ve done.”

“My pleasure,” he replies, the side of his lip curling up slightly.

“It’s still bothering you, isn’t it?”

It’s not that he doesn’t hear her, but rather he wants a more elaborate explanation of what she means- even though he _clearly_ knows what she means. “Come again?” Rhetorical.

“You’re still mad at Gold and that’s all you’re thinking about.”

“Of course. Our lives are at stake, Swan! I- never would I think he would end up wanting to kill you or me. To be quite honest with you, I don’t…” he trails off for a moment, before he finally admits, “I don’t want a life without you in it.”

It shuts her up completely, and maybe he wants to kick himself five-hundred times for confessing that, because the silence turns into utter disappointment for him, and he’s keeping minimal eye contact, or any contact for the matter. Killian however, feels also a wave of air calm him down because he’s finally starting to admit things that _need_ to be said. He feels responsible for it all, for this _entire_ situation, but he’s fighting for his life, and hers, and he doesn’t intend to stop anymore.

He wants a life with her, and that’s his final decision. But whether she reciprocates the same feelings is still doubt-worthy, he’s willing to take a shot in the dark. He’s willing to tell her things, even his past, if he must. He doesn’t want to forsake this life of his anymore, because he’s finally found a purpose. Emma. Emma is his purpose.

To serve and protect, to love and live. 

He hopes he did not just ruin their relationship. He swallows hard, feeling distraught and lost. But, within a second, he feels his lips connect with hers, and she’s completely in control. For the smallest of a second, he doesn’t react because he’s so surprised, but he quickly melts into it, twisting his body over to a more comfortable position, one hand sliding up to cradle the side of her head, the other wrapping around her waist. There are so many things going through his mind, he’s feeling so many other emotions at the same time as well. One could say it feels like there’s a drill being put into his brain.

They both seem to pull back reluctantly, and Killian is almost panting for a breath, and she does the same. He opens his eyes to look at her for a moment, the thought of want and need in her beautiful green eyes, the ones he could hardly keep his gaze with earlier.

Neither of them says a word, because he’s too busy trying to inhale every scent of hers (he smells his own shampoo), and she seems too caught up with a smile that is slowly urging itself onto her face.

He leans his forehead against hers. “I want this,” he mumbles, stroking his thumb across her cheek. “I want _you_.”

“Not yet,” she whispers. “Not until Gold is defeated, so be _patient_ ,” she adds on.

It should make him feel disappointed, but that’s the last on his list. Knowing she feels the same, that she’s willing to take a step forward with him is enough to send him flying to the stars. Mainly, it gives him hope and courage. 

Defeating Gold is their only obstacle now, it’s going to be tough though. Really troublesome too.

* * *

“I don’t want a life without you in it.”

She wants to cry out how much she feels the same, but that would mean nothing, so she grabs him and turns him around to press her lips against his. He’s soft and gentle, even though he’s an assassin. Finally she’s set her differences aside with him, she’s finally engaged on the feelings that continually haunt her in her sleep, or whenever she feels it when he brushes past her.

The kiss is sweet in a way, but also has it’s eagerness to it. Both of them want it, horribly, so badly but it’s such shitty timing.

“I want this, I want _you_ ,” he says, the feeling of his thumb running over her cheer. It makes her feel horrible for not taking this step earlier, but the thing is, it was how she kept pushing herself away- but now, now it’s _different._

“Not yet. Not until Gold is defeated, so be _patient_.”

She can see the happiness fill inside his eyes, and honestly, she feels the exact same he does. She’s finally overcome her fears of loving this man, but he’s done so much- even if they met under bad circumstances- giving her everything she’s never had. And, it’s changing, everything is changing, her world is going from lonely to loved. Her world is going from lost to found. And, her world is going from stolen to earned.

However, the three words are yet to be said between them. She’s not willing to go that far yet, because she wants to take it slow. But, that will only happen if Gold loses. Gold doesn’t lose easily, nor does he back down according to how Killian describes him, so it’s likely they’ll have to have multiple plans, or a really well thought-out one to go against him.

Despite everything she’s gone through- despite being unwilling to trust, unwilling to cooperate, or unwilling to believe, she’s found herself along the way. Begrudgingly, she used to despise how nice he’d act, or how he even does the killing at such ease without a drop of remorse or regret, but now, it’s something not even worth thinking about. This man, Killian Jones, is an assassin, but he’s a man who has feelings, like any other human. If she could have a hypothesis on his past, it’s not that he was raised as a killer, but one that got trained to be one late in his life. Otherwise, no man would act so generous, let alone let her have freedom after barging in on one’s mission. Killian’s different though, and she enjoys knowing that he’s out of the regular.

“Swan?”

She cracks out of the trance she put herself into, and bites her lower lip. “Sorry, got lost in thought.”

“I do have that effect on women,” he teases, leaving a kiss on her forehead. “As long as there’s no other man out to kill me, I believe we can have this.”

“Let’s hope that’s true.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Am I missing something, love? I don’t recall working for anyone else besides Gold,” he says,

Emma can’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “Nope.”

/-/-/-/-/-/

Okay, maybe they’ve sat together for too long because he’s asleep and she’s staring at the ceiling while his arm is still around her. They’re on the couch.

The _couch_.

It’s not that comfortable honestly, but that’s at the least of her concerns. The morning wasn’t much of a good start, but it progressively got better… excluding the little crisis they have with Gold at the moment. Now, she’s sitting there thinking and thinking about, well, nothing really, except the fact that she’s literally falling for him hard and fast now.

She can remember the searing little- okay, not so little- kiss they shared a couple of hours ago. She can remember the way they moved in sync, how she felt electricity jolting throughout her entire body at the moment. She’s never felt so attracted before, but recognizing the fact she does like him has lifted a handful of weight off her shoulders.

They’ve never been verbal on their feelings for each other. Only a small action or two proved something, but it’s changed now.

Without wanting to disturb his sleep, she slowly gets off the couch, letting him rest his head on the arm of the couch with his legs on the other side. It’s not comfortable to have two people sleep on the couch, so she moves down the hallway into her bedroom- she skips brushing her teeth this time around because she’s actually pretty tired- and falls asleep quickly.

And maybe two or three hours go by, but she can hear Killian yelling something, and it’s not clear to her until she busts out of her room and into the living room to see him thrashing about on the couch. She approaches him quickly, shaking his shoulder to make him wake up. “Killian, wake up!”

And it works, because he sits up quickly which makes her pull back and see his breathing intensify, and then calm down a couple seconds later. “Emma,” he breathes out, pulling her in closely. She’s not sure what’s going on besides him having a nightmare of sort.

* * *

It’s been a rough day for him, knowing so many things are just going on in his life is draining him mentally and physically. Sharing moments with her on the couch, simply by holding her is enough to keep him awake for awhile, but he’s not too keen staying up when his body demands for rest.

For the first couple of hours, it’s just a normal sleep, but at some point, he falls into a neverending nightmare that threatens the life of his love.

_He’s waiting for his death sentence, Gold is ready to kill him obviously. Gold probably wants him dead anyways considering he was the one who was partially responsible for taking his wife away. But, he remembers how she asked him to take her away. Albeit, it doesn’t change the fact he’s waiting to die. He’s tied by chains, his head dangling down in the fear of drowning in defeat._

_The old man walks into the room, threatening him in so many ways, but he doesn’t come in empty handed. He comes in with a second person._

_Emma._

_This snaps every nerve in his body to react as he pulls against the chains to break free, but Gold laughs, and Emma has a devastated look he can easily recognize on her face. It hurts him dearly to see the one person he’s truly come fond to love have to hurt. It truly pains him because he brought her into this, when he could have let her go to live her own life, or even break the deal they hold together. But, they’re a team, and they do things together._

_Gold states that he will make him suffer slowly, watching his loved one die in front of him. Killian screams, shouts, yells at the top of his lungs to let her go, to let her live, but the man ignores every word that comes out of his mouth, and moves on to torture her instead._

_The squealing sounds of pain that escape her make him want to die at that moment. He wants to turn away, but he can’t. She says something that he can’t make out, but he figures it’s directed toward Gold being a ‘son of a bitch,’ which is accurate, but too late of a taunt._

_Killian continues to suffer slowly, watching her bleed, watching her try to squirm away, listening to her voice die down after too many rounds of torture._

_And, he’s clenching his jaw to an extent where he doesn’t even feel parts of his face anymore. He feels the pressure against his teeth grinding, and the nagging voices trying to put the blame on him in his head. He tries to yell for Emma, but he falls silent every time he tries to because she’s gone._

_She’s dead._

_The second time around, the one person he truly loved- loves- is dead because of him. He shouldn’t have trusted Gold in the first place, because the man does things a regular person wouldn’t. The sound of her whimpering voice of mercy echoes in his brain as he can’t even stand to look at her lifeless body on the ground; her blonde hair dirty, and the colour drained from her face, covered with patches of red. When his eyes close, he sees a flash of white, a projection of Emma in his mind and he yells her name, so many times he can’t even count the numerous attempts anymore. He’s giving up-_

“Killian, wake up!”

The voice jostles him out of his nightmare, and he’s trying to catch his breath and realize what just happened. He’s staring at the front door when on reflex he sits up quickly. A second later, he has his arms around her, breathing out her name barely into a whisper. He doesn’t want to let go.

But, he reminds himself, _it was just a nightmare._

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks softly.

Killian quietly shakes his head as a response, unable to speak the words. Unspoken words prove enough to her though, and she nods as she understands.

“It’s early and I’m tired, Killian. Let’s get to bed,” she mumbles, pulling back away from him.

Did he hear her right? She didn’t specifically say ‘get you to bed,’ but rather a ‘get to bed,’ which could imply something completely out of the blue that he’s… honestly thought about before. Can’t blame a man for dreaming.

“And yes, I mean together. Because quite frankly, I don’t trust you sleeping without having another nightmare like that again,” she says in addition, a faint smile visible on her lips. “You scared the living crap out of me. I thought I was the one having a nightmare for a second.”

“You are a bloody brilliant woman, love,” he mumbles, getting off the couch. “For a thief, you do not act much like one.”

“Thanks to you,” she mutters, sliding her feet across the wooden floor. “Come on.”

“As you wish,” he simply says, following behind her into his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _3 MORE SUNDAYS._


	7. Chapter 7

So, maybe waking up with her in his arms makes him want to internally die of happiness. Just maybe. It's been years since he's slept in a bed with a woman, let alone someone who was willing to take care of him like this. He remembers he still woke up a couple of times with the usual cold sweat, and other aftermath consequences of a nightmare, but Emma calms him down, and wakes him up whenever he starts succumbing to the nightmares darkness.

And, she doesn't bother asking what it's about. She doesn't ask, and he feels glad because he doesn't want to talk about them. He only wants to forget about them, and move on with his life, not dwell upon the subject, and she's more than willing to comply to those terms. Time to time he will ask her about the bruise, and she'll say it's healing pretty quickly, which is a relief. Neither of them want to get out of bed, so they make the choice to lay for a couple of moments... which turn into minutes, and then into an hour.

It's funny because every time she insists 'a couple of minutes' it turns into something more because both of them are too tired to deal with anything life is trying to push into their faces now. And, he's just about 100% sure Emma is probably thinking about the future- because if one of them really does die, then they won't be able to have moments like these anymore. All the more reason to enjoy the quiet moments while they have one.

"Okay, I think it's time to get out of bed this time," she mumbles, pulling out of his arms. "I actually have to go do my daily grab 'n go today. I've been skipping out on it for far too long now," she explains, stretching under the bed. 

"Swan, I think it's best you keep a weapon on you for the time being," he suggests, flipping the bedsheets off. "You know... Gold may not hold his end of the deal until seven days, and I don't want you to be unarmed if he does target you ahead of time."

"You want me to keep a gun on me?"

Killian shakes his head. "Gods, no. I actually don't trust you with that, but perhaps a smaller weapon, yeah?"

"And what do you suggest? Knife?"

The words triggers an idea in his brain. "Ah, yes. Wait," Killian says, rummaging through his closet of weapons. He brings out the dagger he used against her when they first met months ago. "You remember this, don't you?"

She rounds the side of the bed and examines it closely. "Is that the one you used against me?"

"Aye."

"You trust me more with a dagger than a gun. Precisely with the one you nearly killed me with?" she asks, sort of in a doubtful tone.

He shrugs casually, extending his hand out to give it to her. "It's sharp and easy to carry around, so yes. Plus, you wouldn't have to worry about it falling out of your pockets or whatnot."

"Alright. I'll use it," she agrees, taking it from him.

"Now that you have that, I'm afraid you're a lot more dangerous than I thought. You better not stab me with that, love," Killian teases. "It would be a shame if our roles got reversed."

She flashes a mischievous smirk at him. "Don't count on it, Killian."

“Bloody hell,” he mutters.

* * *

**4 DAYS LATER**

Two days remain for Killian and Emma to make a decision together on how to deal with Gold. When granted all the spare time they have, they tend to talk about it, see if there’s anything that could trick Gold. But, they’ve been unsuccessful. It’s frustrating the both of them, it’s like their anger levels have risen like a rocket into the sky, and Killian’s worry meter goes up every time Emma is out.

Or when she returns slightly late. At like, 8 or 9PM.

But, besides that, everything is going casually. Killian no longer feels bad about kissing her on the cheek, hugging her constantly, or having stupid arguments about what to have for breakfast and dinner. He no longer feels guilt about the lovey-dovey stuff between them, but he still feels it when it comes to thinking about Gold. If either of them are to die, he would rather be the one sacrificing his life. He would rather hand over all possessions for her to start anew. He’s already had his chance anyways, so honestly the only way he can satisfy Gold is by Killian’s death.

Withal the given possibilities of escaping, none of them are to Emma’s liking however. Especially if it means Killian’s death. Every time he tells her his sacrifice is the only way, she grimaces and immediately turns down the idea- even if it’s the only thing they can do by now.

The anxiety he feels with every second of the day while she’s not with him (out,) makes him feel out of it. It doesn’t feel normal to have to worry like this, and he’s definitely overdoing himself, but he’s already lost one lover, and his family, he’s not going to lose anyone else. Not when he’s finally found out how much he loves her.

Tonight is different though. It’s nearing midnight, and she hasn’t returned yet. He’s half-asleep on the couch, his ears still perk to the slightest sounds, even the distant honking from the streets. New York, damn this city, because it’s traffic never settles.

The nightmares have yet to subside, but he’s having less and less each day, which is a good thing. What creeps him out, is the message behind each of them. They all hold the same message, Emma’s death.

If there’s one thing he knows, he’s not letting her die. She doesn’t deserve death, because he does more than anyone. For all he knows he may have killed innocent people, just by the accord of Gold’s stupid-ass orders.

And, maybe it’s starting to bother him, but as per usual, the fatigue of staying up and worrying takes over him as he passes out on the couch, his head dangling over the back. 

Maybe it’s the rustling that wakes him up, or the creak of the door closing, but his eyes dart open to meet a figure who looks disgusting. “Emma?” Hardly does he use her first name, but it seems to come out only when he’s in the most caring of moods.

“What’re you doing on the couch?” she exclaims, pushing her hood off, and ripping her scarf off to reveal a bunch of bruises. “Don’t tell me you stayed up for me.”

“Then I might as well not say it- but, love, what happened?” he says, standing up to give her a quick hug. “You have bruises.”

She returns it, but it’s a bit distant. “Eh, got into a small brawl with a band of other thieves,” she says, almost as if it’s _nothing_. Killian cannot dismiss this as nothing though. Not when she’s hurt.

His head ducks back slightly as the choice of word catches his attention. “A _band_?”

“Okay, like four of them.”

“Bloody hell, woman… How are you feeling then? Pain? Tired?”

“All of the above,” she answers honestly.

There are so many things he wants to address at the moment, but it’s not the right time. Not when she’s back with injuries. “Did you use the dagger?”

She shrugs. “Didn’t get to. They ran off when they heard sirens. Naturally, I did the same.”

“Swan, you worried me horribly. I don’t mean to seem overprotective, but with Gold threatening our lives, and the addition of you being a _public_ criminal, it’s quite difficult for me not to be concerned when you return so late.” Killian yawns. “Is there anything serious that needs to be patched, love?”

“Uh, don’t think so. I just got a couple of punches to the face. Weak though.”

“ _Couple_ of punches. Your definition of ‘couple’ makes me beg to differ.”

“Look, I’m going to take a bath and head to bed. So stop waiting for me and go sleep when you clearly need it. Tomorrow’s a big day, because it’s the last day to decide.” She turns around to go toward the hallway.

“My decision’s already made.”

Emma turns on her heels. “What?”

“I’m going.”

“You can’t,” she protests.

“On the contrary, I am.”

“But, this. _Us_ ,” she whispers. “There needs to be another way. Together.”

He pushes the word away, not wanting to think about it. “We’re not discussing this now, Swan. Go take that bath of yours, and we shall talk about it tomorrow when the both of us are thinking straight.”

It doesn’t seem like she can find anything in her current state to argue, she just nods and goes off to the washroom. When he slips into bed after changing, he immediately falls to sleep, the last thing he thinks of is a damaged Emma.

He doesn’t want that, but what can he do?

* * *

So maybe she got hit a couple of times with multiples fists at her own fault, but it technically really was nothing. It just went on for about half an hour, and even the four of them couldn’t fully defeat her. She’s more experienced, because as she could tell, they were younger and dumber.

While soaking herself in the water of the tub, she’s deep in thought. Too many thoughts for her liking.

One, she hates how he’s so _persistent_ about him dying being the only way to ensure her safety. She actually doesn’t even know why he’s like that, but it’s killing her inside. Two, it’s just the timing. One more day, one more day and then everything could just slip out of her hands in a mere second. She finally thought life was in her favour, but now, it’s not, and she hates herself. She hates Killian, she hates Gold, she hates _everything._

When she’s finally cleaned off, she stands at the doorway and watches Killian sleep. She can’t even get into bed with him, because she fears he’s going to leave her behind soon. She fears him fading out of her life, because she’s already realized how much she doesn’t want a life without him in it either. The words are so simple to think about, yet so difficult to say. But then, there are so many other ways to enact their affection, so maybe it’s not the end. There’s always a chance. _Always_. It’s just a matter of being on the lookout for it.

Slowly, she makes her way into the room, getting into the other side. It’s pissing her off still though. Everything’s just not right. Not the circumstances, nor the predicament they find both of themselves in. The only thing she feels that’s right is being with him.

And it scares her because she will lose him if he _really_ goes on with his plan.

It’s absolutely annoying the hell out of her, and she can’t sleep. At all. Her eyes stare through the darkness, and she can feel him move around in bed. His arms possessively wrap around her waist, and she has the urge to cry. Emma Swan doesn’t cry, she’s not a tearful person.

But she wants to this time around, because as everything gets better in her life, it slowly descends down the hill into something not expected.

Tomorrow night will be the last one they have together. _Maybe_ the last night.

And her eyes may be bloodshot, her throat may be dry, her thoughts may be hanging dead, but she feels just about everything else this man can give her. The light snoring, the breathing against her neck, his scruff tickling her skin. She’s not ready to let any of this go yet.

It’s itching her, making her want to scream because none of this is _fair_. But when was life ever fair to her? The couple of months with Killian with only simple mutuality, but then also with the week she’s having with him where they’ve acted on their feelings?

She blinks a couple of times, letting out a soft sigh before she squeezes her eyes shut, hoping in getting some rest.

Yeah, no.

“Emma,” he murmurs against her skin. “What’s wrong, love?”

His accent is deeper than ever, and it makers her skin shiver. The deep concern she can hear makes her want to cry, something she’s not willing to do. “Nothing.”

“You may be a lie-detector, but you are a horrible liar,” he says, declaring her horrible lying skills. “Stop thinking, and just sleep.”

“It’s not that easy,” she mutters her response. 

He runs a hand over her arm assuringly. “I know, but you need rest. We can talk about it tomorrow, if you want.”

“Okay.”

She tries. She really does, but the gears in her brain are not stopping anytime soon. It’s not until the real fatigue takes over her body, and she passes out because she can’t handle it anymore. 

And she wakes up with clammy hands, because this feeling she has is not going to stop bothering her. It’s taking over her body, and she hates it. She sits up in bed quickly, trying to rid herself of the the thoughts, but it doesn’t vanish. He tries calming her down like she has done with him before, but the techniques don’t work.

So in the first time in ages, she wants to _run_. Just away from all the problems, but she can’t leave him high and dry. She can’t leave him to be alone, because she wants to spend time with him. She wants so many things, but she doesn’t know what she _needs_. It’s very obvious about what she needs, but it’s just her not coming in terms with her emotions and thoughts. It’s just her not making the decision she needs to make because she’s too scared to admit it.

If she spends more time with him, it’s more memories that she can reminisce in if he’s gone. If she doesn’t spend more time with him, and only went off to run, then it only gives her more feelings of regret and disappointment.

How can she live if she has to know for the rest of her life his death was because of her entering his life? How can she manage to suffer after losing someone- her _first_ precious friend, _lover_?

It’s time like these she wants to vent, to cry, to shout, to forget. But none of that can be done if she’s going to lose him. None of that can be done in an empty apartment she calls home. None of that can be done with a broken heart and a wandering mind.

“You need to snap out of it, love.”

“Sorry,” she mutters, falling back onto the pillows. She groans as the pain in her side made itself apparent. “Too lost.”

“I understand this is hard for you, but I promise I’ll fight.”

“And what if you fail?”

“Have I yet to fail?” he retaliates, keeping his gaze locked on her.

She sighs, because she knows the answer to this question quite well. “No.”

“And I’ve yet to see you fail.” He kisses her cheek. “Enlighten me with more questions, love, because I’ll gladly answer them until you don’t feel restless. You not getting any sleep resulted with me not getting any either,” he says.

“Honestly, I don’t have that many questions. Unsettling thoughts were the only things bothering me, but I realized what I really want is you, so being here next to _you_ is enough to send me to sleep,” she replies, with a yawn threatening her shortly after. “I’m going to try and sleep now.”

“After a night of not being able to sleep?”

“Hence the word ‘try,’ idiot.”

* * *

**DECISION DAY**

Killian is struggling to grasp the fact he’s leaving. It’s late in the day, Emma thinks he’s already left (she’s in the washroom), but he doesn’t have the gut too yet. Not until he says goodbye to her.

So, when she walks out and sees him there, she freezes for a second before questioning his presence. “Killian, I thought you left already.”

“Aye, but… I needed to say goodbye. I can’t leave without having a proper one,” he honestly answers, closing the gap between them.

He leans forward, and she meets him halfway because they’re thinking the same thing. The kiss is passionate, but filled with sorrow. Maybe it’s his last one, but if he can get off with a leave tonight with Gold, perhaps he can return for a night to spend with Emma before Gold demands for his head. The feeling of her soft lips against his, and the wonderful smell that never finds its way out of his senses.

When they break out of the kiss, he doesn’t let himself go, but rather hugs her tightly, his face burrowing into the side of her neck. 

“ _Goodbye_ ,” he mumbles, pulling away hesitantly. Killian never cries, but this here, this is where he wants to because he doesn’t know if he’ll return or not. He doesn’t know if the moment he steps into that cold room, dark and chilly full of fear and disgust, if he’ll die immediately, or if he’ll get the chance to speak. There’s no knowing what Gold has planned up his sleeve.

“Be careful,” she huffs out, “please.”

The moment the apartment door closes behind him, he feels the panic rising in his chest. He wants to get this over with quickly.

He sprints down the dark alleyways until he bursts into the room, expecting Gold with his death ready, but he’s standing there, as if he was watching the entire time. 

Killian can’t help but clench his jaws, and take a big gulp because he doesn’t actually know what to do. He’s not going to provoke him, but there’s something on his mind that he wants to try out- hopefully it can solve their issues, he can do this. Maybe. Possibly. Okay, who is he kidding? It probably won’t solve anything permanently, but maybe temporarily.

They stay in silence, neither of them saying a word to each other. The heavy tension he feels is actually quite intimidating, and though he waits patiently, he wants it to be over with

“What is your decision?”

It’s a big step, and Killian stays silent for a couple of minutes. He’s taking his time, but he finally blurts it out, “I quit. You never said I couldn’t, and if I resign, then that means you have no right to order me around. Which means you have no right to threaten either of our lives.”

“That was not part of the deal,” Gold says sternly.

“Ah, but you didn’t say it wasn’t a part of the conditions did you? There wasn’t a signed contract, was there? You should know better than _any_ man to make a deal without sealing it properly with proof, Gold,” Killian retorts, getting detailed on him. “And if you do come after her, well I can simply phone the police, and tell them about your whereabouts. You know the police have been doing intense investigations into discovering where you are, and you should know _I_ am willing to rat you out.”

Gold’s face seems to drop- good- but, he obviously still tries ways to find a way to break through his plan. “There’s a problem with that, because my servants here are proof themselves.”

“Do you firmly believe that their explanations as ‘witnesses’ will be enough to keep you out of the spotlight, Gold? Unless there’s hard copy evidence, it’s difficult to say, _mate_ ,” Killian rebukes, feeling confident with the leverage he has. “Here, shall we bring the attention to his worthless piece of paper?” he asks, pulling out the sheet in his pocket. “I have the right to resign now. Your superiority means nothing, Gold.”

It cracks open a big weakness in his plans now. “You should be prepared, Jones! Let’s say there might be someone who will visit you _soon_ ,” Gold yells angrily, stomping off. For once he gets a taste of defeat, and Killian likes it. 

The victorious feeling flowing through his veins leaves him with strength. “That’s right. Find another assassin to do your bloody, dirty work!” Killian shouts, before he pivots on his feet and leaves, crumpling the paper up and sticking it into his pocket. He doesn’t really expect Gold to confront him for awhile, but little does he pay attention to his previous statement about ‘someone who will visit you soon.’

Now, it just means breaking it to Emma somehow. Without her yelling at him for coming up with a plan which he didn’t tell her about. Okay, so lying was a bad thing, but he wasn’t sure about the success rate on it, so why would he have get her hopes up? There, that was his excuse for it. It wasn’t an accurate representation of all of his entire ideals behind the plan, but it’s enough to probably suppress any anger.

Killian saunters down the hallway of the apartment after dropping by Robin’s bar to say a ‘hi.’ He decides to surprise her instead, so he knocks on the door five times, and waits for a response.

The thing is, he doesn’t know what to say. He’s feeling emotional, and it’s never occurred to him how much this woman means to him until now. How much saying ‘goodbye’ is a stunning pain to the chest, how much hearing the last words of ‘be careful’ can send him into the core of the earth.

* * *

The moment that door closes in front of her, Emma breaks down into tears because she is in an emotional wreck that cannot be avoided any further. She rushes into her room, curling up in her bed for the night. Being in an emotional turmoil sucks. A lot. And it’s not just because of the feelings, it’s because of the broken mentality she puts herself in as well. It’s like her brain shuts down for the night.

Their kiss goodbye is not something she wants to know as a ‘goodbye kiss.’ In fact, it’s the only really luscious, passionate kiss they’ve ever had ever since their first. It kills her to know that there’s a possibility of him being gone from her forever now, without being able to ever experience those type of sparks flying anymore.

It’s the sobbing that makes her eventually pass out because, well, she’s dry on tears. The only other time she’s ever really cried like this before was so many years ago- and it was because of something stupid. This time, it’s because of something _bad_ and _real_ that she wishes had never happened- even could have been prevented. It’s something she’s not willing to think about, but will always find its way to traverse the paths in her mind. It’s something she’s not willing to lose, but is probably going to anyways.

And for some reason, all hope is lost in her. Everything is breaking her apart, but when she hears knocks on the door, she assumes for the worst. She gathers herself together, taking a deep breath before opening the door to see Killian.

Intact.

Alive.

Breathing and standing right before her.

“Emma.”

It’s the one word that comes out of his mouth before his lips are crashing against hers like the violent waves crossing the shores. And, soon she realizes it’s real, that she isn’t dreaming all of this up. That none of this is hallucinations, that all of her mind is really seeing him alive in front of her.

Maybe that hope was never gone, maybe it still resides somewhere deep in her heart where she refuses to unlock, because with him here kissing her with great fervor and want, it’s waking her up from the crash of emotions she was feeling earlier. And she doesn’t want it to stop, because his hands are wandering, roaming her body as they exchange all of their feelings through this lip lock, but it’s only with the unfortunate requirement of breathing that spreads them apart. They leave their foreheads pressed against each other, both trying to catch their breath from a kiss that’s unforgettable.

“You’re alive,” she breathes out, trying to get a grasp on herself. “You’re alive,” she repeats a second time, having to _know_ it’s reality, and not her mind playing games.

“I am, Swan,” he murmurs.

Before she can speak, he’s kissing her again, and she hears the door slam shut behind him- probably kicked it with his foot. She doesn’t want this moment to stop, she _wants_ it to continue, because she needs this. After crying her eyes out, she needs to feel his skin against hers, to hear the words of admiration come out of his mouth, to hear him say he’s okay and that he’s not going anywhere. Those are things she needs to hear and feel, because there’s no other reason except needing to know he survived.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” he mutters in between small kisses. “I’m so sorry.” To hear his apologies makes her want to just hug him and not let go. 

Everything is just overwhelming her.

“I’m so sorry,” he says for the third time, letting himself sink down to the crook of her neck. 

She can hear the guilt in his voice, but she’s getting tired with his apologizing. “Stop it. Stop apologizing,” she whispers. “It was never your fault for whatever you didn’t tell me. I know you were trying to keep me safe." She tugs on the hem of his shirt desperately. “Tell me everything you want to, but stop saying sorry. You’re here, that’s all that matters right now.”

“I- okay,” he mumbles, inhaling a big breath. “Do you want to wait until morning?”

She shakes her head. “It’s nice to have a reunion with you, but Gold is going to have a comeback if you didn’t defeat him the way I’m thinking you did. So, I think it’s best you tell me _now._ ”

“You’re right,” he agrees.

“So... Talk.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a little bit of fluff ‘n stuff, before we get to the real angst. Let’s call it the calm before the storm, yeah? (Sorry about slow update. I’ve been working on my CSSV gift, and school absorbed every minute of my time.)
> 
> Sorry, but this is a shorter chapter. The next one might not be out for awhile. But maybe I'll have the drive to write angst by then.

So, he’s not exactly looking forward to this entire conversation he’s just about to have, but it’s inevitable. The woman deserves the knowledge of why he kept the details to himself instead of sharing it like they were originally dealing with the predicament. _Together_ fell apart a lost faster than he intended for it to, but it was the likelihood of his plan failing which led him to making the choice himself, without her having a proper say in the entire thing.

He doesn’t regret it, not a single drop. Okay, maybe a _little_ bit, but that’s not his concern. Right now, it’s trying to explain everything without seeming like a total ass.

“Originally, I had intended to sacrifice myself to him, as you know,” he begins, leaning against the wall. “But, I had a change of plans. He had never told me I couldn’t resign, which was the only weakness in his entire plan of hurting us. I figured if I could have just _quit_ on the spot like that, he would have no control over any of our lives. It was only a matter of testing my entire theory,” he explains, his voice slightly dropping at the guilt he feels. 

She narrows her eyes at him. “So you just straight up quit?”

“Aye.”

“You’re crazy.” She sighs, walking toward him. “ He didn’t do anything to stop you after that?” she asks, her hand running up and down his arm.

This point is one worth analyzing about, because it does sort of distract him. He didn’t kill him when he had the chance. Gold always has a motive, though. Maybe he let him win? “No, in fact he stomped off and didn’t bother attempting to kill me then and there.”

“Wow,” she mumbles, completely dumbfounded.

“I’m just as surprised as you are, Swan. But, I had the higher leverage, the advantage I needed. The only thing that kept me from originally quitting was the actual contract we had made two years ago,” he says, pulling out the old, crumpled contract that means nothing. “Expired a month ago it appears, hence I had the entire time to pull away ever since.”

She takes it, looking over its contents. Once she reaches the bad part about the ‘demands’ and such, she grimaces. She looks back up at him. “When did you find it?”

“It was sitting in the back of my armory closet, found it this morning. Was a long shot attempt, but it worked surprisingly,” he answers, rubbing his temple. “I wish I could’ve told you earlier, but… I just didn’t want you to get your hopes up. I didn’t want you to think I could win, and then I wouldn’t return. I wanted you to know that I was willing to die for you. To protect you.”

“And you think I wouldn’t be willing either?” she inquires,

“I knew you would protest,” he mumbles, bringing his hand up, his fingers running along her jaw. “I believed, and still believe, you deserve a better life over me.”

“You know, I still remember the very words someone once said to me once, ah, what was it? Well, I think it went along the lines of: ‘You’re as much of a human who deserves chances like I am.’ Now, what happened to your chances?” she asks, keeping her gaze on his.

He chuckles at the familiar words she recites from their past conversation when they were still total strangers, and hated each others guts for stupid reasons. “I blew them,” he casually answers, his head turning to the side.

“Hey.” She brings his attention back to her. “How would you know that?”

He sighs, knowing this conversation has a possibility of not ending civilly. “I’ve had my chance at changing but, I screwed up, Swan. Me lying to you? Another example as a failure in my life. Hence, I wanted you to have a better life.”

She shakes her head, letting her hand slowly make it up to his face, cupping the side of his cheek. It’s almost natural when he leans into her touch, wanting more. “But I’ve come to realize something, Killian. I’ve realized I can’t live a life without you in it either.” A sharp realization of pain snaps into his heart, hearing his own words being said by her, and as an open book she is, he can tell she means it. “You know after you left, I was a complete mess? It’s sorta embarrassing. But if we want this to work, we need to be honest with each other.” She smiles, pulling him closer. “I know you think you’re bad and all, but honestly, the motivation and drive was always good. You wanted me to have a better life and to protect me. So, do you still think you’re that bad?”

“A twinge of guilt eats me inside, but perhaps I can manage if you can keep up with those wonderful words of yours, love,” he answers. It’s something of a lovingly response, he can’t pin his head on the word he wants to describe the way he feels when he talks to her. “I’ll figure myself out eventually,” he admits, leaning in to get close to her ear. “I’m afraid I’m going to go retire to bed,” he whispers, kissing her cheek. He flashes her a quick wink before he slides out of her hands down the hallway.

Okay, so maybe he wants to laugh while he hears her curse and scramble to follow behind him, but honestly, he is really tired. Confronting Gold was a lot harder than he thought, and over two years of working with him ( _worked_ with him), he isn’t adjusted to the amount of exertion it can put on one person mentally.

It doesn’t take a second thought before he shrugs his jacket off, throwing it to the side on the floor, with the removal of his t-shirt too. He doesn’t care about what Emma thinks, because this time around, he’s the worn out one.

“Going shirtless on me in bed now?”

Her voice doesn’t startle him, but he does react with a wry grin while he spins around to see her leaning against the doorframe with a smile on her face. He likes it. Her smile. Everything about her makes him want to do the same. “No one said you have to sleep with me, love.” He slides into the bed, getting himself comfortable.

“Never said I didn’t like it.” She gets in with him regardless, and he slithers his arms under and around her waist, holding her closely. Though only a thin sheet of layer separates the two, he doesn’t like invading privacy, and keeps his hands to himself unless she says so. “I remember when I first saw you shirtless. I may or may not have freaked a little bit.”

“That is without a doubt, love. I could hear the nervousness in your voice that day, it was actually quite amusing,” he whispers his claim, kissing her neck. “I was too annoyed then to even care though. With bashing myself for my drunken stupor, and then Gold’s infuriating words, I did not have a good morning that followed.”

She lets out a soft moan from the kisses, it appears he’s found the sensitive spot on her neck. Following, she scoffs to cover it up. “Yeah, thanks for finding me amusing then.” Sarcastic tone of hers.

He smirks against her skin at the discovery, but he also wants to laugh at her remark- not that he can’t, but his eyes are about to close shut. “I always find you amusing, Swan,” he mumbles, kissing her one last time before he falls asleep.

“Great,” she mutters.

/-/-/-/-/-/

One hand sprawled under the pillows, the other hanging over the edge, and her head laying on his chest is the _best_ thing to wake up to.

It’s the first sleep in awhile since he hasn’t had a nightmare. It’s the first sleep in awhile since he’s actually enjoyed it. Seeing her peacefully sleeping, her mind free of bad thoughts from the anxiety and stress previously is finally making him see the light again. The dark still lingers, but definitely not as heavy as before, and it makes him feel lighter himself. After confessing his plans to her, explaining, and falling asleep with Emma, everything feels _right_ for a change.

There’s no more scary tension because of Gold- maybe a little, but not a lot- but right now he just wants to take in a moment like this. A moment where everything is quiet, and in their favour for once. The past month, hell, even week has been like a ship traveling through the rough waters of an angry sea, but the breeze has finally calmed down to their liking, and the sun finally rises past the dark, stormy nights. Little sorrow and pain, replaced by some hope and desire.

It’s only maybe two hours later where she finally wakes up, and he’s back to sleep after being up early. He stirs though because she can feel him moving, he’s not _fully_ asleep. It’s one of those light sleeping moments, like a small nap of sorts.

“Good morning, love,” he mumbles, his eyes still closed. He feels like his voice is lower than normal, but that’s him just still trying to shake the thoughts of defeating Gold.

“You seem dead,” she utters out, sitting up. “How did you sleep?”

“Better than normal,” he earnestly responds. Like he already knows, this is the first time he hasn’t been woken by a stupid nightmare. “How have your bruises been faring?”

“Healing quickly like a charm,” she answers. He cracks open one eye to glance at her. “I’ve had a knack for recovering quickly if you haven’t noticed,” she proudly claims with a smile.

"That you do," he murmurs, pulling her closer to him. Reflexes. He doesn't want to let her go, he doesn't want to lose her anymore. "I love you," he barely croaks out, nipping at the spot on her neck. He knows she's not ready to say it, but he wants to put it out there. For her to know. "And I intend to keep you."

She takes in a sharp breath at his actions. "Really?" Emma asks softly.

"Really," he assures her, leaning his head over her shoulder, taking a peek at her face. "Do you doubt me?"

She takes a moment to herself before she answers, "No, I trust you. I believe you.”

Hearing certain words come out of her mouth just makes him want to drown- the good drowning. She trusts him, she believes him, and that’s all he needs to know. It’s good enough that they’re… technically together, but hearing words like that still makes him happy. “That’s relieving,” he mumbles, relishing the moment they have together. 

“Killian, what do you think Gold’s up to now?” she asks, a familiar sense of curiosity buried deep below her question. “I mean, he can’t be just leaving. He doesn’t seem like one to enjoy failing,” she adds on, rubbing her eyes.

“Something that will end up as his demise at some point,” he responds absently pulling her closely against him. “I would like to have a little time together, now that we have the chance.”

“Sorry. I’m just, ugh, dunno. I got this gut feeling that _something’s_ going to happen sooner or later. And my gut feelings never screw me over,” she says. To be honest, he feels it too, but he’s not feeling anything so dire where he wants to talk about it just yet.

“I’m fairly certain both of us are a bit paranoid, aren’t we?”

“Yep,” she mutters.

“How about we drop by The Rabbit Hole?” he suggests, “Perhaps we can hang out with Robin, Will if he’s not busy being a drunk, and just relax for a bit.”

“Are you sure it’s wise to leave the house?”

“Are you sure it’s wise to stay in one place?”

She lets out a sigh of defeat. “Probably not.”

“Precisely my point. I insist that this is absolutely necessary for the both of us,” he tells her, brushing a couple of stray strands of hair away from her face. “Besides, I’ve seen you improving at darts. I suppose we can have a rematch, considering the last time was not in your favour. Maybe even a bit of betting to rack up the tension.”

“Are you challenging me, Jones?”

He chuckles, because he knows she’s already starting to lighten up when it comes to playing a nice, old fashioned, competitive game. “Indeed I am, love.”

She pulls back forcefully, slapping his arm. “Oh, it’s on.”

“Don’t hinder my arm before the game starts, that’s bad form, Swan.” It’s a joke, but her face legitimately straightens up, and Killian can’t stop the smirk forming on his face. “Affecting your opponent’s health beforehand is not good for the record.”

She rolls her eyes- something he’s slowly getting used to her is stubborn sass. “Yeah, yeah. What would you like to bet on?”

“How about we get to the details once we’re there? I’m sure you would like a bit of time to plan what horrendous torturing consequence you may give me for a possibility of me losing.”

“You’re right. Thanks for the heads up, now I’m going to have the best plan ever.”

“Bloody hell,” he mumbles, rolling off the bed to get up. _Not a good day to anger the lady then_ , he tells himself mentally, picking up the shirts on the floor. “Shower first?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Fantastic.” He walks out the room, but peeks his head back. “It’s a date then, love.” He sends her a quick wink, and when he goes into the washroom, he could hear her cursing away.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Robin immediately questions their ‘relationship,’ the current status quo is not surprising to him though. He is already rather attentive when it comes to Emma and Killian.

“Finally,” Robin says, patting Killian on the back. “After so many looks, I don’t think I could have handled it any further.”

She turns her head. “Looks?”

Robin scoffs, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. “You’re telling me you haven’t noticed?”

“He’s right, love. I even noticed the looks,” he buds in, swirling his glass of rum around. “Perhaps it’s best not to mention it.”

“No, I want to know. You’re saying we made looks at each other, right?”

“Aye.”

“Pretty much,” Robin says.

“That’s all I needed to know,” she mutters, pushing her luck. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get warmed up.”

“Tough lass, isn’t she?” Killian continues, finishing up his rum as he shifts his position to watch her walk away. Robin throws him a glance of amusement before he moves off to answer some other people. Killian chuckles, placing his glass on the counter before he saunters off toward Emma who’s practicing with her new dart skills. “You’re riled up, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” she mumbles, aiming her dart at the board. “Not that it matters, because it means better performance for me.”

He decides to screw her over, and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. “Yes, however that means me losing, and I wouldn’t want to have to suffer whatever you have planned for my loss, would I?” he whispers closely to her ear

“Messing with your opponents mind before the game? Bad form, Jones,” she retorts, elbowing his stomach. He pulls back, rubbing his side at the pain. “For someone who tends to say something, you’re always contradicting your own rules.”

“Now, I suppose that action was considered revenge from last time,” he curses, bringing his gaze up to hers. “Rules are meant to be broken, love,” he answers casually, shrugging at the idea. “When have we ever followed rules anyways?”

“Fair enough.”

“Shall we get out game started?”

“I didn’t even get to practice!” she pouts, dropping the dart on the table.

He laughs and presses a short kiss to her cheek. “A good player never needs practice, not if they trust their abilities. I’m not giving you the chance on this one, Swan. I’m testing you, love.”

“Damn,” she mutters.

A small chuckle escapes him as he lets out a breath. “Now, shall we discuss the terms of our bet?”

“Right. If I win, you have to do my laundry for the next month.”

His attention is being drawn to some… certain garments. “Does that include…”

“Oh yes, it does,” she whispers seductively into his ears- almost a pur. Now, can you blame him for being turned on? From the _stupidest_ thing ever, it’s sort of hard for his jeans now. “Can you handle it? Are you going to back down?”

He suppresses the urge of a groan. “Swan, I don’t back down from a good challenge,” he urges out of his mouth, his voice had going lower than he anticipates. “If I win, you have to deal with me not showering ahead of you for a month.”

Her face drops. “Killian, I like myself a steamy washroom though!”

Killian shrugs casually, fighting off every urge to kiss her senseless. Okay, so maybe he just had the slightest thought of her naked. _Maybe._ “Better fight for your lovely shower then.”

“Fucking… damn, okay, let’s get this going then,” she stutters, shaking her head.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Long story short, he actually _loses_ \- by a _little_ \- some would consider it intentional, but he just isn’t up to his game as usual. (Maybe it’s the distracting thoughts of her without clothes, and because of the non-subsiding feeling in his pants.)

She sends him suspicious glares time to time, and he would shrug and ask Robin for another nice shot of rum that can burn his throat and ignite his stomach. 

“You didn’t let me win on purpose right?” she asks, taking a seat next to him.

Killian grimaces. “Do you believe I had that intention of letting you win, Swan?”

“No, but it just seems too good to be true that I won.”

He groans. “Why can’t you accept that you won fair and square? I’m relatively certain you should be cheering like a jubilant victor, or mocking me for my loss,” he snaps, finishing his fourth shot of beer. “Not that the thought never crossed my mind. I fancy seeing those clothes of yours.”

“Oh my god.”

He coughs out a laugh, pulling her off the stool and onto his legs. “I’ll do my part. I’ll deal with your laundry for the a month. I lost the bet, and I’ll take it like a man.” He kisses her and she sighs into it. “Now, how about we go back and I deal with that laundry now before the pile gets larger?”

“Get a room!” Robin shouts from across the bar.

Killian rolls his eyes and pulls Emma by her jacket sleeves. “Gladly.” Out they go, back to the apartment to deal with some more enjoyable activities. 

Laundry. How _absolutely_ riveting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> laundry is great /s


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pumped out this chapter rather faster than I thought.  
> The inevitable angst has arrived. There's also a bit of smut in this, skip the first bit if you want.

It's safe to say they had a _very_ productive night. Laundry pile definitely got larger, but Killian's not complaining. In fact, the night went by so quickly, when he wakes up the next morning he doesn't like it. His body is sore, and rough around the edges- Emma can be quite demanding in bed, but it's funny because they didn't start in bed. Lets say there was a lot of pinning against the wall, horrible jokes, and intensive kissing- okay, making out sessions- to make the other shut the fuck up. Yeah, that's how they rolled the previous night. But, there isn't a speck of regret in him that didn't like it. He just never knew it could be so electrifying to fuck someone senseless. Not that he can't give credit to her though, because she blew him away. (Literally and metaphorically.)

But the missing presence in his- _their_ bed really catches on soon for him. He pats the side she's been sleeping on, finding it empty and cold. Too cold to say she only left a couple of minutes ago. He groans and rubs his eyes, finding the sunlight barely streaming in past the closed curtains. He dresses himself quickly, fresh of course since those dirty clothes have been shoved to the 'to-do list.' It takes him a couple of minutes of splashing his face with water and shaving until he wakes up completely, aware that Emma is missing, and that he hasn't done a single thing to discover where she's gone. 

What sucks about being a criminal is that phones aren't much of an option. Traceable. 

Killian knows she can take care of herself, she's done that for ages, but he knows fairly well she's not one to kill people. Defending herself and running? That's her thing- the murdering someone with a weapon isn't. So, yes, sometimes concern overturns every other thought in his mind because he doesn't know what could be happening to her at any minute of the day.

Well, not until he saunters into the kitchen for his breakfast is when he notices a note sitting on the table. He quickly scans it.

_Hey Killian,  
Had to go do my daily grab 'n go again! I promise this time I'll be more careful. Don't worry about me, I have the knife you gave me- and my iron fists that probably hurt you last night, sorry about that. I'll probably be back late, but I'm not sure. Recently, the market has been trafficking a lot of shit, and it might take me awhile to get through. _

_good morning?  
ES_

It's the last bit that makes him chuckle, _good morning indeed_ , he thinks, throwing the paper into the garbage. He doesn't feel that much concern, but it's not like it goes away completely. It's there still.

But that 'iron fists' reference makes him reflect back a little bit. Oh, he smells like sweat, sex, and rum. Hell, he needs a shower, so he doesn't think twice before all his clothes are off and he's taking a hot shower. He's used to taking the hot showers, thanks to Emma. 

_Emma, Emma, bloody marvel_ , he reminds himself, his length hardening at the thought. Last night isn't even a complete blur to him, every detail, thing they said, motion, they are all in his brain. It's both a repetitive thought, and memory he replays in his brain as he leans against the cool tiles behind him. (" _Emma, love, you're beautiful." She smiles sheepishly, her tongue darting out of her mouth to lick her lips. "I think it's your turn," she mumbles, grabbing his shirt_.) Such simple details stick around in his brain, and leaves him grinning like a complete idiot, but he can't help it. 

He lets himself get soaked as the water streams down his body endlessly from the showerhead. Every moment is replaying in his brain, but he doesn't push it away because he wants to relive it. (" _Love, you've never mentioned another man. Is this your first time?" She looks away from him for a second, turning her head back and nodding. "Yeah." Killian sighs, pulling her in closely. "I promise I won't hurt you. Do you trust me on that?" She nods. "Good, just tell me when to stop if it hurts, darling. I want this to be more than just sex, and I definitely don't want to have you in pain._ ") He remembers her trusting him completely, letting her walls down for the night, letting himself take her. _Claim_ her. (" _I want everyone to know you're mine, Swan," he grunts out, thrusting into her at a steady pace, being mindful of it being her first time. "You're mine, and mine alone, love." She lets out a moan, one that leaves him groaning because he's just about to reach his peak. "Mine._ ") 

To be honest, they went on for a round two. That time, she was more verbal than ever, and the sounds that left her mouth made him want her even more- if that was even possible. (" _Fuck, Killian," she breathes against his neck. "You okay?" he inquires, tightening his grip around her waist. "I'm fine." He thinks that's all, but she has more to say. "Harder, please," she whimpers, her fingernails digging into his skin. "What did you say, love?" he asks, toying with her. "Killian," she huffs out, "harder." Shortly after, he heeds after her request, still being careful with her_.) It's all so vivid, so real, and before he realizes anything, he's been standing in the shower for about thirty minutes reminiscing of a night with naked Emma being fucked by him in his head. He's turning into a shriveled up plum by the time he dries himself and moves onto doing other daily things.

But, of course none of that goes to plan because he ends up thinking about it again. Except, this time it's when they first returned back from the bar. Both turned on, horny and wanting each other in some ridiculous ways. None complained though. (" _You've been teasing all night, love. What kind of first date was that?" he murmurs, leaving a trail of kisses on her neck. "First? To have thought every mission we went on was considered a date," she retorts. He hears her take in a sharp breath when he hits the sensitive patch of skin on her neck, which leads to him chuckling. "Ah, well those weren't very much to my liking then. I would much rather bet on games of darts and make a good night out like this._ ") 

It's all still there, his lips bruised from their kissing, his waist made of scratches. She's quite physical, and he can't blame her for it. It wouldn't be surprising if Emma's entire neck was made up of hickeys too. He might have taken his time with her later on before sleep. But, it's a way of his possession. That she's taken, taken by a man, a _killer_ who loves her unconditionally, and wouldn't hesitate to kill a man who touches her. Anyone who dares to hurt her in unimaginable ways, well he wouldn't be surprised if he went out that moment he's told to go track down that asshole and knock some sense into him.

He doesn't let the thought take over his mind though. He sips his coffee while staring out the window of his bedroom, watching busy cars flow through traffic, people weaving in between cars to cross the streets, and sidewalks packed with people who live in New York, and those who are visitors. 

A thought that does cross his mind is making a new life with her. A life of no crime. No more killing or stealing. No more being demanded by a maniac of a boss. No more hiding behind a disguise or cover. No more being paranoid every second of the day. He wants a try at being normal again. And, he hopes that this time around it won't be with him turning out alone, that Emma could be apart of his life forever. 

But, would she be willing to give up her entire thief life just to be with him? It's a thought that lingers around as he rinses his mug out and places it on the counter. It's a big request, but they've been friends for months now, been through so much _together_ , yet he still doubts that she may not be willing to agree to an opportunity as large as that. She may not say it, but he knows, he can read her, that she wants to take it slowly. _Having sex within a week of a burning relationship is not slow_ , he tells himself, falling onto the couch, propping his legs up on the arm.

Killian immediately falls asleep on the couch after a couple of minutes of thinking. It's been too long since he's had a good rest, but the thing is, he hears a click of the door, and for some reason, his gut tells him it isn't Emma. He scrambles off the couch and into his room, digging through his closet, but it's too late.

"Ah, we meet again, Killian Jones."

The voice is oddly familiar, nostalgic even. He turns his head to see the figure standing at his bedroom doorway- oh. Oh.

"Remember me?" he asks, taking a step toward him. "I'm sure you were expecting company. Speaking of company, where is that girl of yours? I heard you upset Gold because of it," he says, his eyebrow raising up. "You should have known better than to anger him."

Killian's jaw tightens at the view of his old rival when he first started working for Gold. He was always fighting with him because Killian ended up taking the 'spotlight,' at some point. " _Pan_ ," Killian growls, trying to keep the anger in. "Her location is none of your business. Gold is a coward, a man who can't do his own job, a man who runs away from being caught, only in search for power." His mind drifts back to Milah, to watching her die in his arms. "He's a monster, and you know that, Pan."

The man scoffs, his face presenting an evil smile, one that always sends shivers down his spine. "Please. You're just mad because he took your first love from you. You're mad because he's threatened your dear lives, so you chose to run. You can't stand to lose a second significant other, huh?"

"You're daft, Pan! You should know how he's insane. Let me guess, he sent you here to kill me, right?" he asks, making sure his voice doesn't waver from fear. He's not scared, he _isn't_. He refuses to be frightened of this person. He's nothing more than a pawn to the game, just like how he was.

Pan waves the gun around. "You've always been perceptive, mate. Hey, it's a shame your lovely woman isn't here to see you die." He points it at Killian, and that sends Killian stumbling back two steps against the wall of his bedroom. There's no helping him now. "Honestly, I was sent to kill the both of you, but I suppose Gold will be pleased to find that your death is enough."

"It's a bloody shame you've been brainwashed by a stupid man who has no intentions of liking you at all! It's a shame you've fallen into dark hands as well!" He grits his teeth, his jaw locking as he closes his eyes, ready to see death, ready to see darkness take over him. He can't win against him, not when he has a gun. Not when he can't make a decision which will send a bullet flying through his body. 

But, the sounds of struggling causes his eyes to dart open, seeing Pan's face crumble in pain. "Looks like your backup has appeared, Jones," Pan mumbles, lifting his arm back up to point the gun at Emma. Killian sweeps his gaze across to notice the red. He keeps a hand on his stab wound, but he can see his finger tighten around the trigger. "Silly woman. I'm not that easy to kill. Pan never fails, that's a lesson you should learn."

"Pan, put the fucking gun down!" Killian shouts. He sees the fear in Emma's eyes, even in the darkness. He can feel her body trembling even if he's not there holding her. He can put together all the pieces and know anything could happen at any moment. "Please," he begs, falling to his knees. "Don't hurt her."

Pan grins like a lunatic, laughing his guts out. "Look at you, so desperate to save her! I love it. Keep it up, mate. Now I know what Gold meant! Love is a weakness," he says, pointing the gun at his head. "I can blow your brains out now."

Before he can pull it, Emma knees Pan in the groin and stabs him again before he's too stunned to even move. "Love is strength," she mutters, pulling the dagger out of dropping body.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Weird. For one, the door is open when she returns. Unless Killian expects company, the door shouldn't be open. Secondly, he's not there to greet her with a kiss, hug, or smile. He's not laying on the couch, and he's not in the kitchen. It's not until he hears the voices in the bedroom, it's not until she quietly tiptoes down the hallway where she finally realizes what's going on.

She hears the words that are coming out of a man's mouth, she hears the coldness in it. But, then she hears KIllian's, the undeniable tone of his coming from the other side. Emma immediately reaches for the dagger in her jacket, keeping it close to her as she approaches the figure standing in front of her. She doesn't know what she's doing, she doesn't know what she's risking- her _life_ \- but, she does it anyone. She jabs forward, the knife quickly covering in blood as she pulls it out, and it freaks her out. But, the real fear doesn't kick in until he doesn't falter, until he turns the gun and points it at her.

Emma's on the verge of tears, because she doesn't know what to do. She's never been the one to kill, she's never been the one in a problem like this, and her life could be over in just a flash. Just a pull of that trigger and she could be gone. The goosebumps make itself present, the shivers going through her body, the scare filling her as she listens to his dark words. When Killian drops, begging for this 'Pan' guy to not kill her, she feels some sort of warmth spread through her. When he points the gun back at Killian, she takes it as a chance to inflict the damage. She pivots enough to get in front of him, knee him in the balls, and then stabbing him once again, which results in him dropping down. 

"Love is strength," she mumbles when she pulls the dagger out. It's not until the dead, bleeding body is laying in front of her, killed by her hands, does she start to break down. "Oh my fucking god, I just killed someone," she breathes out, falling to the floor. "I killed someone."

Within a seconds time, his arms are wrapped around her. "Emma, darling, it's okay," he says, attempting to comfort her. He doesn't say anything else after that except mumbling her name, rocking back and forth in his arms.

That's good though, because she doesn't want to hear anything and definitely doesn't want to see anything. Her hands are stained with some blood from the man, and it scares her horribly. She pushes her own body into his arms, and she feels him tighten, feeling his body tense up slightly at the way she's reacting. "I killed a man, Killian," she mumbles in between some small sobs.

He rubs her back, picking her up slowly. "I know, love. Come on, let's get you to bed, I'll deal with this, okay?"

She can't protest against that, she's too broken at the moment to say anything, let alone move- her hands are trembling. The last thing she wants is for him to leave her, but they need to get Pan's dead body out, and she's not the one for his job. He sets her down in the spare bedroom, and he kisses her forehead. "Emma, calm down okay? Try to think of something else, love. Try."

Emma nods and he smiles sadly, leaving the room and returning with some wipes to clean her hands. She takes it from him, but she's still shaking because this is not what she's asked for. No, definitely not. She didn't ask to kill a man, she didn't ask to murder him- it's the one thing she's kept away from doing. But, it meant saving Killian, and she had to do it. But, her body clearly denies this and she can't do anything but lay in the bed, still petrified completely. She tries to zone out, tries to sleep, tries to so hard, but she lays there, it's been what? 2 long hours maybe? The tears have dried, and she's squeezing her eyes shut to try again, but it doesn't work out well. She's tired, she's still frightened to hell and back, but yet, her body and mind deny her of the rest she wants.

Anything away from this life of hers, anything away from what happened hours ago would be nice. It's not until her entire body shuts down because of not getting any possible rest at all. But the nightmares are haunting her endlessly, the same thing of her killing someone over and over. It's until all the fear eats her in one go.

She feels the shake on her. "Emma!"

Her breathing isn't steady, her heart's beating is at a rapid speed, and she's in cold sweat. The images of her nightmares doesn't last for very long before it vanishes into the dark. "I'm okay," she manages to mumble, sitting up in bed. 

Killian pulls her in closely with an arm around her shoulders. "Nightmare, love?"

She sighs. "Yeah."

"Would you like to talk about it?" he asks, planting a kiss on her head.

"No. I don't remember much of it anyways," she honestly answers, rubbing her face. But she's not dumb, she can put together the pieces of what it was about. "Just that lingering feeling of it, you know?"

"Aye, that I do." And she can tell he knows what it was about too. "You were out for quite a bit, love. I was worried you'd never wake."

"What?" She doesn't know what he's saying. Has she been out for more than she thinks she has? "Worried that I'd never wake?"

"It's been two days since... you know," he hints. "I decided not to disturb you. But after a day, I thought you were out cold. I checked up on you frequently. You were just extremely exhausted, so I just chose to be patient and wait," he supposes. "At least I know you're okay," he adds on with a whisper.

"Two days," she repeats, blinking a couple of times. "Really?"

"Really. You needed the sleep, plus, it gave me time to... well, dispose of the body and evidence," he says, "it was rather difficult. However, I better not bore you with details you're unwilling to know of."

She winces at the thought, the memories coming back to her fresh and on the plate in front of her. He reads her easily, and tightens his grip on her shoulder. She forces a tight-lipped smile on, but he frowns quickly. He knows something's wrong, he also clearly knows what's wrong. He doesn't force her into anything, though. He doesn't press her toward sharing any information on how she's feeling, and she's grateful for his understanding.

"All will stop soon, love. The nightmares will end soon, I promise you that," he assures her.

Unsure of his meaning, she turns her head to look at him. "What do you mean? When? How?"

"When I had my nightmares, remember how you helped? I shall do the very same, until the day I die if that's needed. Gold will pay soon, and then we can move on," he tells her, his hand rubbing up and down her arm. "That is if you want to move on with me."

She doesn't exactly know what to say. Yes, this entire relationship is great, blissful, amazing, but whatever he means by 'moving on,' she's still doubtful. It's not to blame him for anything though, she doesn't find it surprising that he's looking forward to their future. And, quite honestly, she wants to move on with him, she trusts him plenty, with everything really- except her heart. She still doesn't want to hand it over to him like that.

But, then again she's already been claimed by then. That night, that alluring, passion filled night of mumbles of adoration and the truth. That night he said "You're mine, and mine alone." That night he was caring and considerate, even though he still somehow ravished her.. And then comes in the fact that he's given her a chance at living, a home, a friend- friends actually, and a chance at _love_. If you were to ask Emma Swan about love a year ago, she would have said it was nonsense. That it was pointless. Now, she thinks it's possibly one of the best things that's happened to her. (Excluding their struggles with Gold.)

"Swan?"

His voice pulls her out of the trance, and she avoids eye contact. "Yeah, sorry. Just, blanked out..." she mumbles.

"You don't want to move on with me, do you?"

The splitting pain seeps into her heart and shatters and spreads all over. To hear the tone of his voice, the lost of hope and striking sadness pulls her down. She shakes her head, denying that. "No, of course I do. It's just..." She sighs, pulling her knees up. "I've never thought that far before. I don't know how to do this," she confessed, and it ends up as a whisper by the end of her sentence. "I've never done this before. I've never gotten myself this deep in a relationship with anyone, never have I killed someone, never have I considered our lives on the line. Do you see where I'm coming from, Killian? I'm just lost. That lost girl you first met that was a thief, and still is."

He doesn't give her a second chance at speaking her thoughts, because he twists his body to look at her. "No, Emma, bloody hell, you aren't lost. You found your way to me, I've found mine to you." He kisses her forehead, pulling her into his arms and she falls in anyways. "There's a first for everything, love. You just have to trust me when I say everything will be over soon. Gold will be dealt with, and then we can move on. And that's a promise."

There's nothing there for her to argue with. Nothing more with that promise he's made to her. And he doesn't break his promises, it's bad form according to him. "Okay," she utters, yawning. "What time is it?"

"Late."

"Thanks," she mutters sarcastically. "I'm going to go make myself some tea or something. Won't be able to go to sleep now." She pulls herself out of his grasp and rubs her eye.

"Nothing I can do to convince you to come back to bed?" he asks.

She lets out a quiet laugh which fills the empty room. "No. You can sleep, I'll be back in a bit." She pulls the door open and leaves it open behind her slightly when she slides down the hallway and into the kitchen. She figures a small cup of hot chocolate will do. Emma prepares it, and when she's done, she keeps her hand around the warm mug. It should be able to calm her nerves a little bit.

"Hot chocolate, love?" he asks, leaning against the counter casually, his sweatpants hanging indecently low on his waist.

She jumps slightly, turning to face him. "Yeah. Didn't I tell you to sleep?"

"Wasn't a tempting offer without you occupying that bed with me," he casually admits. 

Emma can feel the gaze of his, trying to inspect her, read her, but is there really anything left to be read? Plenty to be read actually. She's still in complete worry-mode, not only of Gold, but she's still recovering from being a... murderer? Or was that considered self-defence? For her own sanity, she tells herself it's just an act of defending herself and Killian. No one can protest against a woman trying to defend herself... by stabbing him twice and possibly ruining his chance of ever having children- not that it would matter, he's dead anyways.

"Love is strength, is it not?"

She nearly chokes on her drink. "Huh?"

"You said so yourself. Love is strength, you had- have the strength to _save_ my life, literally, Emma Swan. I have the strength to defend you and fight until we get back to being _us_ again," he says, standing up straight.

'Us' is still a weird concept to her. There was never a 'us,' in her life. But she is his, so that's a change.

She nods in agreement though, because why else would she disagree? There's no given reason to that. "Right."

The issue that remains is her entire fear of killing someone. She stares at the hot chocolate, and her eyes play games as she sees the red instead of brown. Her thoughts are nothing more than that, and she wishes it could all just go away. Then nightmare for this day might be gone for now, but its always a feeling she will recognize. She can feel her knees buckle, her hands tremble slightly, and a shaky breath escape her lips. Everything it still so clear in her mind, she forgets reality for a second and floats away.

It's only when she feels a pair of strong arms wrap around her, with the addition of murmuring her name against her skin that wakes her up from the reverie. The hot chocolate no longer seems red, and the dimly lit kitchen seems to bring her back to her senses of reality back. She nearly loses her grasp on the mug, but she manages to keep her grip on it tight enough so she doesn't drop it.

However, it's the one word he whispers that catches her attention. " _Together_."

She's usually been the one making the motivational speeches, but assuring words from him can get her far. She's totally not going to cry- no, just... maybe one tear, and it drops into her hot chocolate. Killian runs his thumb along her cheek, because he knows exactly how she's feeling.

Lost, worried, scared. 

Perhaps it's over exaggeration, but that ache somewhere in a chamber of her heart refuses to go away. That pulling, dark voice in her head refuses to shut up. That twisting, nervous, churning feeling in her stomach refuses to stop. Nothing can really explain the frustration she feels in her veins, not with all these feelings coursing through her bones. 

Maybe they stand there for a couple of seconds of minutes, but she wants to stand there in his arms for longer, for... _forever_. It's the only thing keeping her in orbit, the only thing keeping her on the right path. Not that she's been on the right path anyways, she's been a thief for ages, stealing from others. That's not exactly justice being served, but then if she is to regret it, then she would probably have never met Killian. Then, she starts to question how she even deserves this man, how he deserves a broken, lost girl like her. But if it makes her question like this, it makes her fear further, so she stops herself from thinking of such depressing thoughts, pushing it away. Back to the back of her head.

She doesn't feel uncertain about their relationship, she doesn't feel uncertain about her attraction toward him, she doesn't feel uncertain about her gut feeling. It's not a think anymore, but it's a know. 

"Swan? Are you alright?"

She sighs. "Yeah, fine." She finishes her hot chocolate before it's cold, and dumps it in the sink. She can feel his eyes burn a hole through the back of her head, and there's not a moment where she recalls him being so serious before. Unless, you consider his deadly glare before he nearly killed her. "I need a walk," she mumbles, rubbing her temple gently.

He reaches out to her. "I'll come." 

It doesn't surprise her when he offers, because she doesn't want her to be alone. But the best thing she's at is being alone, and she needs this time. She pulls away from him before he can grasp onto her. "No, no you stay. I need to clear my mind," she quickly responds, slipping her boots on by the doorway. She grabs her jacket and swings it around. "Just this once, Killian, please."

"You've made up your mind then?" he asks, his voice cracking a little bit. 

She closes her eyes and nearly winces at the sound of his voice like that. "I need this walk. I need time to myself, to soak everything in. To deal with my own demons at the moment," she tells him. "I'll be back later. Go to bed," she pleads, " _please_."

"Just be careful, love," he mumbles kissing her forehead. "Don't be out long."

"I know."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOUBLE DIGIT CHAPTERS YEAH! Anyways, a lot of stuff goes down. Enjoy- this is a hella long (sort of) chapter for you guys.

It's earth-shattering in her brain, everything is just a jumble of confusing thoughts, and she doesn't exactly know how to fight it. When she steps out of the apartment, she takes a deep breath of the polluted air (disgusting as hell,) and pushes herself to walk down the busy streets of New York. It's bustling, the crazy traffic, bright billboards and screens, lights shining and reflecting off the glass skyscrapers. Typical NY day.

The weather is humid but cool, and as she walks down, bumping into a person or two accidentally, she finds herself completely forgetting why she came out in the first place. Alone. That's right.

She strolls down, hands stuck in her pockets as her brain attacks her with so many thoughts she can't even keep track of. She can still remember the stain of crimson coloured blood on her hands, even the stench of the bitter taste of it as well. No matter how hard she tries to block it out, it makes it harder to let go, which means her mind thinks about it longer. Don't mention Killian either. Her feelings are strong toward him, magnetic even, but she needs time to process everything. She has a relationship she wants to feel dedicated too, but then if there's people coming after him or her left and right, what kind of moving on would that be? She reminds herself that she's still a damned criminal on the streets. Stealing from people's pockets, whether they be a small wallet, jewelry, or a purse. 

She's been alone for her entire life, what's making her change her mind now?

The company is a possibility... But, the real answer to her question, which she knows, is that she thoroughly finds it enjoyable to have someone love and care for you, genuinely. In her case, Killian is really that pillar of support, that person who's already chosen to be with her regardless of the circumstances given. It's a satisfying feeling, because she's never felt it before. But with him, it literally emits off of him and his smug personality. At one moment he can be dead serious about killing a man, and the next he's protective and loving. There's so much depth in him that she wants to find herself learning about, but yet what if one day she wakes up and he's gone? What if she doesn't get the chance?

She refuses to give up on the little spark of hope inside her, but this grace of love she feels for him is both weakness and strength. She knows this, because at that moment when she stuck that knife into Pan, it was in terms of their survival. Ensuring she gets a chance with him, ensuring Killian had another chance at all of his life. When Killian got down on his knees, pleaded to not shoot her, something ignited within her to take action at the given opportunity. 

Most of all, it was really and _is_ the thought of losing him. 

She's never known her parents, hell, never even bothered to go look for them. She's never made friends, she's made some encounters with a couple of nicer thieves, but they never last until they hop the path off to go find something better to do than talk or befriend her. She's never found interest in anything other than looking out for herself, and she's lost just about everything in her life. Almost everything.

And no matter how many times her mind goes to find something else to think about, it leads back to Killian, to the encounter with Pan, the horrible thoughts that got shoved in her brain the moment the tides turned for the slightest second. The sudden soreness she feels in the back of her neck makes her groan because now she wants to go back to bed, and she's far from the apartment by this point. She doesn't realize the distance she's made until about an hour of walking down crowded streets of New York later. The flashing images on big screens distracts her temporarily and the indecency of some patrons piss her off. God forbid something making her even more moody, because she just wants to go home.

 _Home_. Still hard for her to grasp onto, just like ' _us._ ' She's never had a home, not until Killian rolled along. She's never had a friend, actually friends, until Killian rolled along. She's never had feelings for a man, not until Killian rolled along. It's all so new to her in so many ways. Being alone has been her motto for ages, but she reckons it's pointless because Killian is going to be persistent on saying she's not lost and alone- the truth in essence.

But, damn, they don't joke around when they say New York is the city that never sleeps. Her surroundings and the general environment keep her distracted enough until she finds herself back inside the apartment, casually climbing the stairs until she approaches the door to _their_ apartment. She's going to really, _really_ need to get used to this 'together' thing. Even though they've been doing it for months. In due time she will adjust.... somehow.

It's the quiet, somber mood when she walks into the apartment. It's the reminder that someone died here, by her hands, when she walks down the hallway and into the spare room she had been sleeping in. It's the wave of guilt she feels when she sees him in bed with a hand over his face, and his hair disheveled more than before. Safe to say he's been running his hands through that hair of his while she was out trying to calm her thoughts down. The walk is sort of a success, it sort of told her what she needed, it reminded her of her purpose. It's just not until she tries to carefully sneak into bed next to him until she remembers it clearly.

He stirs, and she regrets waking him up while it's still early, but it's probably inevitable. "You're back." His voice is thick with his accent, and thick of sleep, and it makes her feel... something.

She doesn't fight the smile coming up on her face, even if it's for a second. "Yeah, I'm back. I told you I just needed some time to be alone." She adjusts herself in bed, letting herself be pressed against his chest, tucked under his chin. "Not that I meant for you to take any offense to that," she whispers. She just needed a reminder of her wanting him over anything.

"None taken," he mumbles, wrapping his arm around her. "Did your walk prove successful?"

"Sort of, yeah. Just needed a reminder of what I was fighting for and why," she answers, listening to his steady heartbeat. 

He hums softly against her hair, and his body is warm against hers. It reminds her of everything a home should have, and it really makes her wonder of their future. Moving on if you say it in his words. It doesn't take her long before she's asleep, just because she feels _safe_ in his arms. 

But the nightmares return, and are shortly-lived as usual. She wakes up to Killian gently shaking her and calling her name, like the first time is happened. Whatever strings she's pulling on, she wants to stop herself because she doesn't like the nightmares. Waking up to the terrors, but yet being reminded he's right next to her manages to keep her composure together for long enough. And she's starting to notice the look on his face every time she wakes up from a shitty nightmare, and the more times he has to do it, the more he seems like he's going to go murder someone- Gold, to be exact. 

He's a patient man, she acknowledges that, and since she can't stop the nightmares from worsening every time, she knows it's annoying him. She can tell he's trying his best, because he's taken measures to his own hands- staying up late if he needs to, making her tea or hot chocolate with cinnamon, telling her stories about his old passion with the seas, keeping her tucked under his arms. She appreciates each single little thing he does for her, but it's breaking her soul to see him struggling in trying to help her calm the nightmares.

It's honestly tearing her apart slowly seeing his face scream tired each morning, seeing him staying in bed for a lot of the time, refusing to get out. She's turning him into a broken man, and she doesn't like that. She _hates_ it, she hates seeing him so exhausted, she hates noticing the dullness in his voice, she hates getting into bed each night. So, she starts dreading it. She starts avoiding having to go to sleep, and it doesn't take long until he catches on to her little ruse. It doesn't take long for him to lean against the counter, half-dressed, watching her make herself a cup of coffee or hot chocolate. It doesn't take long until he goes to take a shower, and she takes an extremely long one after him. It doesn't take long until the sadness starts showing through on his face, made of concern and pity. She doesn't want pity though- which, includes sympathy as well.

Days go by and there hasn't been a new threat around, yet, deep down in her brain, she still feels paranoid. Talking between her and Killian become quite minimal, and it's not that she likes it (it's hell), but she can't do anything about it. She finds herself leaving the house early and returning late at night a lot more often, because she's avoiding him. She's avoiding the looks, the words, the feelings, and just _everything_.

It's while she's attempting to read a book on the couch when things start to change. And she hates the change.

"Swan, when are you going to stop avoiding me and sleep? I'm quite perceptive, and this," he breaks off, waving his finger between them, “this is avoiding. You can't outlive nightmares like that." 

There’s only so much she can handle before it takes over her. "I don't fucking care, Killian. I'm sick and tired of them, and it pains me to see you trying your best when the outcome doesn't improve." Emma takes a deep breath, and drops her book down on the coffee table. "I don't feel like a whole anymore, I feel like I've been torn in half. I see the faces you make, filled of sadness and worry. And I hate it. I hate it when you wake up and refuse to get out of bed because you've been staying up trying to comfort me. I hate it when you watch me drink something late at night, and you know exactly what I'm doing. I hate it that you're putting me before anything else, and I hate it because I don't know what to do to pay you back for all of your services!

"To be honest, I don't know what or how I deserve you. I told you before, and I'll tell you again, I'm a lost girl. Nothing changes that." It strikes her that she's never actually told him of her life story, only the simple 'I've been on the streets practically all my life' thing. Her voice is dying down slowly, but she continues on anyways. "I was abandoned by my parents on the side of a freeway, with not even the decency to drop me at a hospital! I was a loner throughout my entire childhood, through my adolescence. I never made friends, because I knew I couldn't get attached to people that would eventually leave. I lost all that possible trust inside of me after I made my way by stealing from people. I put my walls high up because I just couldn't handle the idea of believing in anyone. I couldn't look out for anyone but myself, because that's who I am best, being _alone_.

"And my fucking god, you treat me like I'm everything to you, and I can't believe it. I can't believe that you put me in front of your own self, and I can't believe that I've stumbled upon a human being, a man, who as humble as you, has me as a partner. Through my entire life of being alone, I've never met someone like you. And now that I'm attached to you, I can't bear the thought of _losing you too_. I can't believe any of this because..." she trails off while she gets off of the couch as her eyes start to water. " _I love you_ ," she croaks out, swallowing away that huge lump in her throat which is full of nervousness, and pent up emotions.

Everything is pissing her off, she doesn't even have anything left to yell at him for, nothing left to accuse him of. She just watches him as he stands there idly, his mouth half-open. She notices his hands curl into fists at his sides, and she's honestly about to break down because she's just admitted everything to him. But, without a further minute to waste, he takes two big strides, cups her cheeks, and crashes his lips against hers fiercely- it's filled of raw emotion, passion, _love_. She doesn't resist it, in fact she does find her hand playing with the hair at the nape of his head, the silky, comforting feeling in between her fingers. She feels one hand wrap tightly around her waist, while the other buries itself in her hair. Everything is just a haze, because she's too caught up with the way their lips are moving against each other, she's too caught up by the taste of mint (his toothpaste) in her mouth, she's too caught up by the way he begs for entrance into her mouth.

They don't get carried away with it, but they do pull apart eventually, both gasping for air to supply for their lungs. The tears threaten her eyes now, and they're not a lot, because she's practically blinking back a majority of it, but he wipes the escaped ones away with the pad of his thumb, and kisses her again and again until she feels like she's going to fall on her knees and die. He's trying to prove a point to her.

And he's doing a damn well job of it too.

"Emma," he breathes against her skin, embracing her closely. "I didn't know of your past, I never knew of your terrible struggles, and I would love to find those parents of yours and punch them for leaving you like that. I would love to go to Gold and kill him right now for sending Pan for giving you such a traumatic experience. I would do anything in the world for you, and I need you to trust me on that. But part of me is delighted that you went through hell." She's about to slap him, but he continues. "If you'd let me explain, that is."

So she decides to listen, decides to not jump to conclusions even though that's what she can be good at. Avoiding, jumping to conclusions, being alone. It's been the three things she's been created of.

"That- If we never met that night at the mansion, we would have probably not been here. If you had not been looking to survive after my threats, you would not be mine. If you had never had the guts to storm in through the window to find loot, which I must say was quite impressive, I would have never been mesmerized by your beautiful green eyes. If you had never grown up with difficult circumstances, we would not be here," he explains quite passionately, looking her in the eyes. "And if I had never met you, I'd still probably be working under the lunatic of Gold's orders. I would still be living in misery, and drowning myself in the rum you see me order all the time at Robin's. Gold has been the source of my hatred for years, but I've never been able to enact anything against him.

"And to be honest, I hate him with all my heart. I despise him, and I've always wanted to cast my revenge on him... He took away my... my first love. He took away Milah, he took her away because she asked to escape his cowardice, demanding ways. She asked for me, because she wanted a life with me. But the night, that bloody damn night, Gold showed up and shot her as I had to watch her die in my arms. Do you know what the last thing she said was, Emma? Do you?"

The confession of his past is making her insides crumble, the look in his usual glimmering blue eyes are gone, replaced by the cold hate. She doesn't blame him for the hate in his heart for this man. At least he admits he wants to kill him- or whatever other revenge he's had in mind before. She shakes her head at his question.

"She said she loved me."

Emma tenses up, her body goes rigid in his arms, and she know he can feel it. One thing she knows is he doesn't want pity, so she won't say anything about that. Her chest feels heavier because she thinks she's a replacement of his Milah of his, but the man has more to say, and she'd rather let him speak and express everything at his own pace, and not disrupt him.

"Ever since then, I vowed to never love another woman, mainly because I thought I probably would never find another person I would have wanted to spend my life with." His adam's apple bobs up and down, the notification that he's swallowed. "That is until I met _you_. Your passion to survive, your stubbornness, your fiery comebacks. I thought you were merely going to be a business partner, but I turned out to be wrong. I fell for you fast, Swan, and I want you to know you aren't a replacement to Milah, never. She will live in my heart, but you, you're my second chance, and I want to do everything to get it right with you." He inhales a sharp breath, before letting it out. His hand rubs against her cheek, and she leans into his touch slightly. "I've lost my brother in a boating accident, I lost Milah, I lost my parents at a young age. I fear losing you too. I will stop at nothing to keep you safe, love. I know this is a lot to take in, I just willingly much gave you my entire life, but please, don't avoid me. 

"I'm tired, yes, but I don't care. I want to care for you, I want to cherish every minute and every second I have with you. I don't want this to end. I miss seeing you smile and laugh genuinely. I miss holding you in my arms at night when you can't sleep. I miss you when you're out doing whatever you do. I miss all of you every time moments are wasted between us. I can't blame you and I can't blame myself for anything. It hurts each day when I wake up and you're not in bed with me, love. _Please_ promise you'll stop avoiding me."

Listening to each word, _knowing_ it's well off as the truth because she knows a lie when she hears one... She can't deny what she feels anymore. She's already said the words before, but she's willing to say it again. Just to let him know. She doesn't care about who he was as a man in the past, she cares about who he is now, and that she's willing to trust him with her heart.

Finally.

" _Promise_."

"Thank you," he murmurs, kissing her once more. "Don't ever think you're not worth anything. You're worth everything to me, Emma." His eyes are full of hope again, they're no longer dark and cold. They have that blue of the vast oceans once again, and it's like everything just changed between them.

 _You’re worth everything to me, Emma._ It plays in her mind. She’s never been worth anything to anyone. "I'm sorry for being ignorant. I just couldn't stand seeing you always worn out, knowing I was the source of your fatigue. I don't know know what I was thinking." She lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head at how dumb she was. Everything's so much clearer to her now. 

He smiles, and it's small, but it's progress. "Can you... say it again, love?"

"I'm sorry?"

Killian shakes his head. "No, not that. The... you know, other words from earlier. I just, I need to hear it once more, make sure I'm not dreaming like a bloody git."

And then it hits her, he wants her to say the three damned words again. But she's willing to, he deserves every right to know it, even if it means verbally saying it when their actions speak louder than their words. "I love you, Killian Jones. Never thought I would admit it myself," she says, barely over a whisper. "And don't you dare make me say it again, because I will beat your ass."

This time, it's more of a grin, and it makes her warm inside. "Wouldn't dream of upsetting you," he mutters. "I think I've made it abundantly clear already, and I've said it before, but I'll say it again. I love you, too." He sweeps her off her feet, literally. "You know we never talked about that night where I took you."

She rolls her eyes. _This man_ , she thinks to herself. "Are you serious? You're bringing this up now?"

"Perhaps I'm a bit curious. I must say, for your first time, you were very impressive, my love," he says, dropping her on the bed. "I wouldn't mind a... third time. I believe the marks you've left on me have faded, which calls for new ones." Killian drops down next to her. "Only when you're ready. I only wanted to mention it, not tell you we're going to have another go. It's with my best interest only to please the lady when requested, not force anything onto her."

Apparently, the only thing she can do is smile. She can still remember quite a bit of that night. She might have been quite enthusiastic about it. "So you've been thinking about it?" She slips under the covers, letting her hand slip under the pillow as she faces him.

"Oh, you've no clue, darling."

"You're-"

"Dashing? A scoundrel?" He quirks an eyebrow at her with his smug smirk again.

She laughs softly. "I was going for 'too bold,' but scoundrel works too."

Now, it sort of scares her how easily they fall back into their original relationship. No more avoiding, no more tension, no more hiding things. They've both confessed their past, their history of lost ones. What else is there to share now? _Nothing_ , she supposes.

But, there's nothing else to worry about... except Gold. She's forgetting about the thought of avoiding him, she did promise that. The least she can do is keep that promise. And although Gold keeps her wondering and asking questions, she just wants to savour moments like this now. Now she knows, that he's brought it to attention, that life is made up of moments. She doesn't want that to slip away, she wants to keep herself with Killian for as long as possible. Theres just something oddly comforting about this- being in his arms- which makes warmth surge around in her body.

"Sweet dreams, Swan," he mumbles against her hair.

It takes her awhile to fall into slumber, but Killian appears to slip into sleeping quite quickly. The steady heartbeat and evened out breathing slowly lulls her to sleep anyways.

Nightmares again. Except this time, it's horrifying. Apparently she's screaming, because that's what Killian is telling her when she wakes up with clammy hands. She doesn't remember much of the bad dream, but she does know it's the worst one she's had yet. It's like her entire body is trembling, and damn she feels embarrassed about it, but it's also annoying the living shit out of her. Why is it so hard to get a good sleep for once?

"Definitely not sweet dreams," she mutters, getting out of bed. "I'm going to go take a bath. See if that works at all."

"Don't pass out in there, Swan."

She scoffs at his comment, shaking her head gently. "Good point. I probably will pass out in there anyways," she remarks, grabbing some fresh clothes. "Unless you... uh... want to join me...?"

"Swan," he huffs. "Is that an invitation for me to bathe with you? It sounds like both a demand, and a question." He sits up on the edge of his side of the bed, running a hand through his hair and yawning before he lets his body drop back. "I might actually fall asleep on you. I reckon you wouldn’t want to drag me out of that tub. I think I’ll pass, but I’ll keep myself awake until you’re out. If you’re in there for any longer than thirty minutes, I’m bursting into that washroom.”

She knows he’s a patient man, but sometimes, he’s not. But it’s just for the best intentions. “Not even a chance for me to respond before you burst in?”

“Not risking it, love.”

“Alright then…”

/-/-/-/-/-/

Another long story short, she did lose track of time, and he _definitely_ bursts into the washroom while she’s drying her hair off.

“You were serious. Damn it, Killian!” She whacks him with the towel, but gets back getting her hair to dry.

He ducks his head. “Sorry, love,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around her.

For some reason, every possible thought of being happy, and having a future with this man is in her mind. “I don’t know how much longer I can put up with this invasion of privacy, Jones.” Maybe she could get used to having him wrapping his arms around her all the time, even if he rushes into the washroom with panic written all over his face.

He chuckles, kissing the top of her head. “You love it.”

“That’s funny.” She does love it, but Emma’s… well, good at hiding some stuff away. Throw it down the drain, and she’ll forget about answering honestly, or proving any point if needed. But then again, she is not the best at lying, even if her strength of telling out lies contradicts the entire point. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to comb my hair from this colossal mess of curls.”

“Open book, Swan,” he enthusiastically comments. He pulls back, and the immediate warmth of his body is gone, she already misses it. “I’ve better prepare some hot chocolate before you murder me in bed for my mistake on barging in,” he mumbles.

She nods with a coy smile. “You better.” It’s not her usual smile either. She hopes he doesn’t notice though.

“Is there something wrong, love?” There it is. In his voice, there’s a drop in octave, and also the concern and worry- the usual at least.

It’s then she starts to freak out, not to the extent of hyperventilating, but she’s not good at wording things, talking about feelings- blame the loneliness, the loss of never having someone to discuss things with. “Nothing, actually. I’m fine. Perfect even. Better than before I think. I mean, I didn’t die in the bath, so that’s good right?” she says, running a hand through her hair.

“Emma.” It’s like a prayer, a wish. “You’re rambling.”

She waves it off. Avoiding things again. Avoiding conversations. Avoiding him when he’s trying his hardest to care for her. Avoiding the _promise_. “I’m tired.”

“How about I make you that hot chocolate, and you can tell me when you’re ready?”

She silently nods, finishing up herself as he slips out of the washroom with a click from the door. Emma shuts her eyes, throwing the towel back on the holder before her hands rest on the edge sink and she’s staring blankly at the tile floor. Her eyes feel like fire, her chest aches, and it feels like something acute just hit her heart. Nothing in specific, but she imagines some stupid, stupid things. Alright, not stupid- a _future_ , a happy one.

And it scares her, because she’s always thought her entire future would just be the bleak one. It’s excruciatingly painful for her to even think about, because she’s still tired, recovering, and yet her mind and body doesn’t give her a break. A walk is not going to help at this time, nor does she trust herself with it again, not if it means avoiding. Avoiding isn’t an option, because Killian is the only one who knows of her pain, her loneliness, her past.

It’s as if her legs grow stiff while standing there, and she doesn’t know how long she’s been there, she reckons it’s a couple of minutes, but when Killian knocks on the door, she figures it’s been longer than expected. 

He opens the door with a mug in hand. “Swan, are you alright?”

It’s only when she nods quickly, straightening her posture does he narrows his eyes, with that crease between his eyebrows which tells her something she knows well. _Open book_ , she reminds herself easily.

“Yeah, yeah. Got reflective for a bit,” she whispers, letting her fingers rub her eyes. 

There’s an interlude of a silence, but he quickly breaks it when he presses his lips to her cheek, offering the hot chocolate. “With the cinnamon.”

She manages to huff out a breathy laugh with a small smile dancing upon her lips when she takes the mug. “Thanks.” She’s not the only one who can divert a conversation to clearer waters apparently.

The details of their argument- could you consider that an argument? Or some angry break-up, make-up?- is still fresh in her mind, raw, even. How she yelled at him and then found that her voice lost it’s passion by the end because she was about to cry- let’s be honest, she did. And then Killian was there kissing her like it was his dying wish or something, as he then confessed his difficult past too.

She’s never believed in kindred spirits or true love. She doesn’t even know how to love honestly, she’s never been in love before. Then again, the man in front of her proves her wrong. She does love him, she can say it so many times, but she’s afraid of screwing up. The last thing she wants to do is screw up a perfectly working relationship, even if she knows she can’t, because in all of the heavens, Killian seems to know exactly how to lead on and work it out with her every time there’s a small mistake, or whenever someone really fucks over.

It’s just a matter of learning.

She was never good at learning in the first place.

Damn, it’s going to be harder for her than she thought. Nothing’s easy, she knows that for sure. 

The warm mug of hot chocolate in her hands catches her attention, because she’s nearly forgotten she’s standing in the washroom with Killian staring at her with a confused face, while dozing off into thinking of things that… should be discussed with him.

But she’s not good at conveying her emotions, her thoughts even. The last time she did that, which was a couple of hours ago, she completely ranted her heart out to him. And now shortly after, there’s more things she’d like to discuss. There’s just no peace in her mind, perhaps it’d be best if she talks to him about it instead of holding it in. _Holding it in is only going to turn out for the worst probably_ , she thinks, taking a sip from the drink in her hands.

Her mouth opens halfway before she purses her lips, shaking her head subtly. _Maybe not yet, not after the earlier events_ , she supposes, letting the idea sink in. And she’s pulling away, like normal, she’s running after she’s acknowledged it.

“You look as if you’re floating in space, love,” he says gently, his eyebrow raising up. “I think we should get out of washroom and go somewhere a bit more fitting.”

She agrees with him, taking the steps she needs to get out of the washroom as he turns the light off. She feels his hand on the small of her back, and a simple touch sends shudders down her back regardless of how many times she gets a simple touch from him. It’s some sign though, because this is how it feels to be admired and loved. This is how it feels, and she doesn’t ever want to let go of that feeling.

She chugs the remaining of her hot chocolate and places it on the coffee table before she sighs. “Okay, so, you know when you were talking about moving on?”

“Aye.”

“I was…” she stops, searching for the right words, “well uncertain.”

“Love, you don’t have to-”

“No, I gotta clarify this for you.” She takes in a deep breath, letting it out right after. “You know how I never had a good start, never had a good life. But you know, you’ve pretty much influenced me a lot, and I appreciate it. So for an answer, _yes_ , I do want to move on one day, and yes it’s with you.

“I’ve just been hesitant because… seeing a happy future, with you? Was never on my list to be honest- before all of this happened. And though I don’t technically know of a ‘happy’ future, I know that right now, I’m happy. I thought I’d never admit it, because you know stubborn old me, it’s just how I’ve been since the beginning, and who I am now. I’m not used to it, Killian. Not used to someone putting me before them, not used to someone who trusts me like you do. So… thank you. Just, _thanks_.”

His hands are firm on her waist, his lovely blue eyes looking into hers- so desperately, she’d like to drown in them. “You’re happy, even through those nightmares?” he asks, his hand sliding up her side until it’s to her cheek.

She smiles sheepishly and nods. “Yeah, even through those. Because I don’t wake up alone, I wake up to you. It helps, more than you know it, more than what you give yourself credit for.”

It’s a chuckle for a response from him. “I must say, you’re a saviour, Swan.”

She feels the blush rise to her cheeks slightly, but it’s gone before he can probably notice it. “So are you,” she adds on.

He scoffs, and it’s self-deprecating. “I’m not a saviour.”

She cringes at how much his usual pride gets quickly covered up by the bad. She notices the blame he puts on himself, and she hates how he puts himself down that quickly. “You are to me. You saved me plenty of times, and I appreciate it.” 

Emma leans in to capture his lips in a kiss. She fears he’s going to pull away, but he doesn’t, and he keeps himself attached well. It’s slow and gentle, and she needs to feed herself more kisses like this- it’s _empowering_ somehow. His hands quickly find their way down to her back at some point, and then one is tangling in her hair. She rests her hands on his chest, feeling the well-toned muscle under his t-shirt.

“Thank you, Swan.”

They both collapse onto the couch, and Emma feels weary and wants to sleep because she’s pretty much fought the demons inside her now. She’s admitting the truth, opening up him, and letting him stay in her life. She’s letting him become her everything, and she wants him to know that somehow. Another day, maybe, but she’s too tired to say anything anymore.

He plays with her hair as her head lays on his lap, looking up at his face. She sees the genuine grin grow from one end to the other, and it makes her feel more happier than she has in ages. Just enough to keep her hopeful, that their broken paths will mend together to create one. Forge a new one together.

But, it’s only a matter of time until her fatigue takes over her. She falls asleep, hoping that a nightmare won’t be the thing waking her up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews anyone? Comments?  
> Not too much angst, was it?   
> (I have a long weekend, which means 4 days of time to write a lot. Boo yah. I just need to survive school tomorrow.)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Smut ensues in this chapter- if that wasn't obvious by now. So if you’re not interested, skip it when you’re there. (I’m not that good at writing smut anyways, so… lol)_

It’s when she wakes up realizing she hasn’t screamed from the fear of the night, hasn’t been pulled down by the voices in her head- it makes her happy. Happy in so many ways, because somehow along the path of confessions, being truthful to herself and Killian, is where she found herself. And maybe it’s a one-time thing, but if it is, she’s at least experienced one time of sleep without waking up in the middle of it with a dreadful punch to the face for weeks, or a painfully stunning loss of air for five seconds being stuck in the back of her throat from the paralysation. 

Her breath hitches the moment her eyes open slowly to see herself still in his arms, wrapped up tightly by his warmth and there’s a sense of safety, and sense of _home_. Home is Killian Jones to her, and she doesn’t care what will happen, as along as she can have him by her side.

“Good morning, love,” he hums. “What’s with the no nightmares all of a sudden?” he asks, his voice low and thick of sleep.

“I faced the truth, reality even,” she answers honestly, nuzzling herself closer under his chin. “The avoiding method was a bad choice, you were right. And when did we get into bed?”

“Of course I was,” he teases, kissing the top of her head. “And, I carried you of course.”

She tsks. “Egotistical man,” she mutters under her breath, closing her eyes. “Anyways, any plans for today?”

“Oh, I don’t know, love, that’s up to you.”

Suddenly, she remembers something. “Laundry. I think with both our piles, it’s going to be a large mess.” She yawns, breathing in the faint smell of his light cologne- and he smells like salt? “I’m going to enjoy watching you suffer. And, why do you smell like salt?”

“Ah, well I was by a place with water, dealing with Pan’s body,” he mumbles, trying to keep it as quiet as possible. He’s considerate.

She winces at the mention of Pan, and now she doesn’t want to know a single detail. She doesn’t want to know how he did it or where (specifically) he did it anymore. Nevermind her horrible idea.

He sighs pressing a small kiss to her lips. “Laundry day, let’s go, Swan,” he encourages, getting out of bed quickly. “You’re going to regret beating me at darts now, love.”

“Regret it? Dude, I don’t have to wash my own clothes for an entire month! I think I’m safe with that option hung above my head,” she exclaims, stretching under the covers. Her feet swing over the edge of the bed, feeling the warmth of the bed disappearing. “Plus, we have our own laundry machine which saves us the trouble from the open one downstairs. Even better.”

“Ah, but the aftermath,” he taunts, giving her a sly grin. “But as you wish, love. If you think you’re so triumphant, I suppose I’ll let you drown in your giddy feelings.”

“Giddy feelings?” she mutters questionably, dragging her feet across the floor.

They both manage in the washroom, occasionally she would slap him with the towel because of his innuendos, and he would point his razor playfully at her if she was to slap him again. They bump shoulders, push each other around, and act like ten year olds who couldn’t get the pizza they wanted for dinner.

In all seriousness though, her watching Killian deal with her clothes has her silently choking on laughter in the hallway. She can hear the string of curses that spill from his mouth, varying from ‘Bloody hell, woman,’ to ‘Fuck me for losing that game.’ It’s a wave of laughter and happiness that keeps her mind away from any stray, dangerous thoughts of the past or the possible future.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Sorting through all her clothes has been the hardest thing he’s ever encountered, because his eyes tend to drift away and look past his shoulder to the door that’s open by the smallest bit. He can hear her laugh, and it echoes in his mind, bringing joy to him. He can imagine her smiling at how he’s miserably failing at dealing with the laundry, and that sends a jolt of rustling nerves throughout his body. He can look at her undergarments and still recall every event from that one night of fiery sex.

It takes him time, _a lot_ of time to get through her side of the laundry. Laced bras and underwears are the only things making him fall into a dying pit of desperation, being covered by the other casual shirts, jeans and sweatpants burying him down below. He can feel the burn of her gaze on the back of his head as he stands on his unfairly weak knees, his jaw clenching tightly to the thought of her in bed calling his name. Can’t blame a man for having dirty thoughts once in awhile, right?

So, when he finally shuts the lid of the washing machine and turns the knob he’s glad he’s done the first part. It leads him to letting out a large sigh of relief, though that tight ache under his pants isn’t going away anytime soon. Neither are the unparalleled thoughts ever thinking of vanishing behind the curtains, because this time around, there’s a possibility of _little_ patience. He’s not sure how long he can hold it in before he wants his ways with her, unless she decides to reject him- he knows her well enough to know she’s putting him through hell on purpose.

He tries to casually slip out of the washroom and into his bedroom to change, the reminder of the encounter with Pan coming back. _Buggering damn_ , he says mentally while he rummages through his drawers for a pair of more comfortable clothes. His wants are not his needs, but it’s safe to say that throbbing sensation is not going to be subsiding at all, not until he gets it.

Killian quickly rids himself of the jeans for a comfortable pair of fleece pants, however he’s only in his boxer briefs when she walks in like it’s nothing. _Ignoring the view_ , he tells himself. “Are you happy, Swan? You’ve gotten what you rightfully won,” he asks, pulling his pants on. The last thing he needs is her knowing he’s got a thing for her at the moment.

“Yeah,” she drawls, holding the word for longer than usual as she approaches him. “How’d you fare with your new responsibility?” Her hand wanders down his body as he fights back a groan.

“You know bloody well how I fared,” he grumbles, ignoring the blood rushing to his ears.

She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re right, I do. ” 

“Swan,” he breathes, “you’re going to need a lot more than your wonderful clothes to get me into bed.” It’s a lie, he’s already going to get her into bed either way. She’s just making it easier for him to agree to it at some point, but he’s setting himself up for a hell lot of intensity later, then.

Emma scoffs. “You’re bluffing.” 

He hums, ignoring her bold, yet true statement, his eyes darting down straight to her lips. Without a second of time to waste, he crashes himself against her, pinning her against the door of his bedroom. It’s a small gasp that comes from her where he lets his tongue slip through her soft lips, the lips he will never get tired of, no matter the amount of times they kiss.

Because every time they kiss, it’s something _new_ , like something is revealed for the first time.

It’s only a mere matter of short moments where she rips his t-shirt over his head, and hers is pulled off quickly by the tug of Killian’s impatient hands. He lets himself trail kisses down the curvature of her neck, always hitting the one spot that gets her best. The next moment, both of them fall onto the bed, his lips too busy to do the work he’s been wanting to since the moment he laid eyes on her clothes. He knows he seems rushed, like he wants pleasure her to the ends of the world, but he also wants to take in the time he’s been given with her.

He wants to take in every inch of her wondrous skin. Pay attention to every moment a noise escapes her kiss-bruised lips. Mean every word that comes out of his mouth which compliments her beauty that has been hiding behind layers of clothing all this time.

This time, this sex, this _love_ isn’t made for him to play around with. He wants her to know, even by the simplest actions, how much she means to him- the entirety of his life revolves around her orbit. If it wasn’t for her coming around, he’d still be stuck in a deep, dark hole of depression for the rest of his life. If it wasn’t for her risky attempt to escape him when they first met, he’d still be mourning the single soul of a past lover. If it wasn’t for her working with him as a team with a somewhat foolish deal, he’d still be pouring rum down his throat each night in attempts to _forget_.

So, she means everything to him. Her happiness means his happiness. Her freedom means his freedom. Her lost means his lost. Her struggles mean his struggles. Her love means his love.

All these thoughts rush through him as he’s kissing her senseless, both of their lips in sync as she’s pressed under him. He’s making no attempt to appeal her with his arousal, but he’s also making no attempt to hide it either.

Emma’s hand trails down his bare chest to the edge of his pants, and it sends a satisfying shiver through his body as he groans into their connected lips. Shortly after, his recently I-just-put-them-on sweats are off, and he’s only in his boxer briefs, while she’s in her jeans and undergarments. He quickly tugs at the zipper, and she quickly shoves them off her legs, leaving her only in underwear and bra. An impossibly stunning view lays in front of him, which he will _never_ get tired of.

“You beautiful woman,” he mumbles, kissing her forehead. “For many months, I can’t believe I missed out on all of you,” he whispers, pressing kisses down the side of her neck, to her bare shoulder. His hands slip around and unhook her bra, throwing it to the side.

She sighs of contentment, pulling his body closer to hers. His lips are rocking against hers, and that lets a soft moan escape. “How long have you been this hard?” she asks softly, too busy getting kisses all over her body.

“Since the beginning,” he answers mundanely, his hand cupping her right breast, his finger flicking around her hardened nipple. He squeezes and tugs at it, which makes her cry out gently. “You know how to tease a man, Swan. Bravo,” he mumbles, his lips dipping down hers. “It’s time I make you pay.”

Making it hasty, his hand slowly slips down to her panties, pulling them off quickly. It’s quite obvious she’s got a pool waiting for him to jump into here. He smirks as he brushes his fingers against her flaps, giving her a considerate look before doing anything. She nods, which gives him the permission to slip a finger into her. An immediate whimper comes from her, and it’s far from over. “You alright, love?”

“Perfect,” she murmurs.

It doesn’t take long before he puts another finger in, curling inside of her as her walls clench around. “You’re so tight, darling. Wet and ready for me the moment we got on this bed,” he mutters hungrily, bringing his head down to kiss her. It’s hungry, it’s passionate, it’s desperate, but it’s loving, it’s caring, it’s gentle all the same.

This woman does questionable things to him- godly questionable things. Things he won’t bother actually questioning because- _fuck_ \- she’s irreplaceable.

Her head falls back as he maneuvers his fingers back and forth, pumping at a steady pace. Her loud groans, the small whispers, the small actions make him wonder how worthy of a man he is to have her. How lucky he is to have her in his arms every night.

“Fuck,” she sighs, her fingers digging into his skin deeper. His thumb manages to rub right at the soft bundle of nerves, which seems to get her out of control the moment he does so. “Killian,” she moans loudly, eyes closing in pleasure. It appears that she comes quite quickly, as he slips his fingers out which is covered by her wet release. “You know how to work your fingers, Jones.” She’s quick, managing to turn the tides, making him end up on his back, facing her eyes which are full of lust.

He likes this. Her taking control over him, as if she’s a professional, which they both know is far from the truth. But, he’s willing to let her explore, learn, and it’s like she’s quite natural. He would even go to the extent of calling this woman a goddess. Then again, he is the one in love with her. Far too deep to reach the shores now.

Her hand rubs on the bulge showing through his boxers briefs, and he lets out a husky, rumble of a groan. She knows how to pleasure him quite well. More credit than he can give her for. And recently through all the emotional stress, and the frustrating tug of a problem Gold has proved himself to be, _this_ is like finding an escape, just enough for him to forget all of his issues, and only focus on loving and pleasing the woman he wants so dearly.

Needless to say, her hand quickly finds her way to removing his boxer briefs off, his stiff cock in the grasp of her firm hands. At first, it’s tolerable with the way she uses her hands, but the moment her head drops down and her mouth takes him in, his entire body feels like he’s falling down a neverending abyss of pleasure. His groans soon come as grunts of her name, both vulgar and soft. His hand becomes her guide, resting it on top of her blonde hair as he pushes down, her lips being the one thing he’s focused on. 

He’s breathing heavily, catching his breath as she licks off his pre-come. “Gods, Emma,” he huffs out, trying to take in everything at once. “I need you, _now_ ,” he demands, pulling her arm so he falls on top of her, their lips meeting like a fierce battle on the war field. He nips on her bottom lip, his hand tangling throughout her blonde curls, their bodies flush against each other, both burning with the heat of the moment.

He quickly finds the condom in the drawer, placing it on at his fastest speed because he’s growing impatient with the amount of time that’s being wasted on simple things. 

Without much time at his hands anymore, as if it’s his last desire, he positions his feet firmly on the wooden floor, her thighs spread apart for him. He teases her slightly, nudging around. “Fuck, Killian, come on,” she breathes out, propping herself on her elbows.

There’s a quick nod. “As you wish,” he whispers, and then he’s inside of her, using his steady stance to his advantage. He stays at a constant speed until she asks for him to go a bit faster and harder, and he gladly complies. She bucks her hips against his, both of them working well at the same time, at the same pace. It’s like they were meant to fit together like this- dumb theory and all, but it’s worth considering just for the shits and giggles, right?

It’s just a mix of skin slapping, grunts, groans, moans, cursing, and other noises that can’t be claimed with a names. At some point, she ends up clinging onto his torso, her nails digging deep into his skin, but he can’t find it in him to feel any sort of pain. It’ll leave a mark, but he’s enjoying too much of being inside of her to worry about the scratches, bruises or any other marks that will eventually emerge into the light and make itself present.

“Emma,” he breathes out, nearing his limit. “You’re tight, love. Let go,” he mumbles in between breaths.

“Killian,” she mutters, her breath radiating on his neck as she leans her head to rest on his shoulder.

His body freezes the moment his release occurs, his legs feeling stiffer than usual, his body feeling flimsy and overexerted. She falls back onto the bed, her chest heaving. Not long ago, they were having the time of their lives in sexual action, now they’re laying on top of each other, both trying to catch their longing breaths.

“A bloody marvel you are, Swan,” he drawls out, pressing his lips to the side of her head. He quickly rushes to the washroom to get rid of the condom, and when he comes back, she’s still laying there pretty motionless. “Are you sure this was only your third time?”

“I lost count,” she taunts him, her eyes closing shut. She rolls onto her side, her legs getting tangled with the covers. 

Safe to say they both take quite a bit of time to recover. Emma seems weak on her knees, and Killian’s back is sore as hell. They both laugh at each other though, because whatever it was, it was still mind blowing sex nonetheless.

They take their slow time to get dressed (tired, exhausted- thanks sex!) because it’s still the afternoon, and that means doing other business. Other business includes yelling at each other while buying things at the store because they can’t agree on the type of apple they want. Red? Green? Big? Small? Then, there comes the endless amount of looks and mumbling in line about how they look. Some are nice enough to keep it in, others decide to compliment them really loudly which causes both of them to just glare at each other.

By the time they get back to the apartment, the laundry is done, and the both of them are called for being hungry. For food. Not sex. At least not yet. (It may be awhile before he can do that again.)

However, somewhere in his mind, something keeps reminding him about Gold. How they could be put in some precarious situation at any time. How he could come in and kill the both of them. How he could hire another man (which he highly doubts) to slaughter them in their sleep. It’s not the most settling thoughts at all, especially after a busy day of other events, but he attempts his best to keep it away, tucked in the corner of his mind for later.

That later comes by quite quickly. Emma’s fallen asleep already, but he’s just laying there with his eyes wide open, being paranoid to no end.

If he was to ever lose her, how would he fare having her gone? How would he ever be able to love another person again? How would he be able to move on, without her? If it was to happen, he would feel like the anchor lifted, and he was no longer grounded. He would feel like a torn sail from a storm. He would feel like he’d be traveling against the wind, instead of traveling with it.

His heart bleeds from the thought, his lungs burst and he loses oxygen at the possibility. There’s always a chance of it happening, but perhaps, once again, he’s over analyzing. Perhaps, it’s time for him to face his fears as well, the truth and all that. Except, he’s already done that. Maybe it’s time for him to confront Gold again, break it down with that man once and for all. Rid of the poison in their lives, rid of the toxic man who’s damaging their relationship slowly.

He contemplates on approaching Gold again, and to his defense, there’s no other choice but to confront him. In fact, he finds it absolutely necessary to end everything with him once and for all. Killian isn’t sure about killing him, because he can’t walk in there and expect not to have a fight be put up between them all. He also needs to tell Emma, if he can. He probably won’t. It’s too much for her to handle, too much for her right after she’s finally calmed down from her nightmares, finally feeling as if she’s found the right place of where she belongs. Killian is all-around considerate, trusting her, believing in her, but there are some things that are just inevitable when it comes to sharing. This is one of those things.

And then the voice in the back of his head, _and if you die, then she’ll blame herself for not noticing earlier_ , echoes loudly, _if you die, she’ll hate you for the rest of her life because you left her like everyone else_ , it continues. _Even worse, she loses the one home she’s found_ , the nagging voice says, pulling on every string in his heart. It’s painful for him to think of it, and to admit the fact that whatever voice it is, it’s horribly speaking the truth, yet he doesn’t know what to do. The very thought of it puts him in a repeating cycle of stupid thoughts that he could be thinking of later, but isn’t, and it’s the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling with one hand behind his head, the other laying on his stomach.

He listens to the calm breathes Emma takes, and it slowly puts him to a deep sleep of exhaustion. The thrumming of the sound of his heart bursts in his eardrums, but he finds himself able to quickly ignore it, and just remember that she’s next to him in bed. Not in trouble. Sleeping peacefully. 

Killian awakes to the soft light streaming through the curtains, and it takes him multiple times for him to open his eyes. His eyelids feel slightly heavy, but nothing he can’t handle. It’s when he looks at the clock at his bedside, does he realize he’s slept in for a lot longer than intended. 12:28 PM in red numbers. Emma is still next to him, back facing him with her hands stuffed beneath the pillow.

He yawns, rubbing the tired tears from his eyes as he slowly gets out of bed. He crosses around to the other side to place a gentle kiss to her forehead before he changes and decides to go on a small walk around the city. Just to clear his mind, and then maybe bring back brunch since they are clearly not going to be able to cook by the time he gets back. Not after the activities from before. Too tired.

His back is still horribly sore, but has recovered a lot more overnight. The woman know how to break a man, even with the smallest requests.

After finding a pen and paper, he scribbles down what he’s doing and where he’s doing in case she wakes up panicking her guts out. They need to sort out a plan, and eventually get phones now that they aren’t… totally criminals. That’s good enough right?

/-/-/-/-/-/

It’s empty sheets of a bed next to her, the cold bed filling up the empty presence in the room quickly. Emma glances around, her body sore to a far extent. For one, she can totally start getting used to having sex with him, especially because what comes before it is just inevitably some of the funniest stuff she’s seen in years. Two, he’s awfully careful and gentle with her even when they’re in the most desperate of stages. And three, it just feels great, like an escape of sorts. It makes her forget about any other troubles that live in her mind.

She finds the note on the counter which says he’s out for a walk, and that he’s going to get some takeout. It doesn’t even bother her, but without him in the apartment, the entire place feels… dead, quiet, boring, even some sort of lurking sadness. Plus, she hasn’t got a clue about when he’s going to return, so she’s going to have tolerate the empty apartment for now.

She settles with reading that book she never finished. Honestly, she has no clue why she’s reading it, it’s just another typical thriller novel. But, time flies by pretty quickly before she starts to realize that Killian’s been out for hours. Too many hours to be specific. Too many for her liking.

That ends up making her pacing back and forth in the living room, wondering if Gold has taken his revenge. No, not in broad daylight, right? All the other options are crossed off the list, unless he’s decided to take a taxi through hours of worthless traffic. Just as everything starts to become a worry to her, the door swings open and Killian has a tray of coffee cups from Starbucks and a takeout bag. Relief flushes through her as she feels her body relax to the sight of her… boyfriend. _Sounds so fucking childish for some reason_ , she thinks, making her way around to him.

“Apologies for returning later than expected,” he says, plopping the tray down on the counter. “Horrendous waiting lines.”

 _He’s not lying_. She smiles and nods, taking one of the cups, which are still quite warm, and pops the cap open to take a sip. Refreshing. “I was just about to start worrying about why you were out for so long. I was reading a book that I was about to throw out the window.” She drags her feet along the wooden floor and sits on the couch carefully. “What did you buy?”

“Chinese,” he answers, unpacking the box. “Didn’t know what you wanted, so I took a chance and bought the fried rice and barbeque pork. That sound good?”

She gulps down the warm drink. “Yeah, it’s good.”

He hands her the takeout box, and she sets down her coffee on the coffee table (hah, ironic right?) to start eating. The aroma is great, and he plops down next to her on the couch, eating his own food. Not long before those takeout boxes are empty and left to be thrown in the garbage.

Then, the inevitable conversation starts.

“Swan, I’ve been thinking…”

She sighs, finishing her drink. “Great, what is it this time, Killian?”

“I need to talk to Gold,” he bluntly states, scratching a spot behind his ear. 

A faint, ‘Oh’ escapes her lips as it strikes her. It’s obvious, he needs to confront Gold about everything that’s happened. It hasn’t been that long since Pan’s attack, but it feels too good to be true for Gold to just leave them be. He doesn’t seem like a man who likes to fail, so there’s a likely chance he’s going to return anyways, and that just sets out as a mission for Killian to embark on.

“It’s just that with Gold around, I fear he will return and harm the both of us, love. I don’t want that, and the last thing I want is for him to lay a finger on you.” He lets out a shaky breath, quite evident he’s nervous and touchy on the subject. “But, I don’t know what the old man has prepared for me. He’s a demon, he’s addicted to his power. He’ll do anything to make us perish off this world, and that’s not how I want this to go. It’d be too early for that, however, I don’t know what to expect from him. The better or the worst?”

“Trust me, he’s going to find away around the both of us sooner or later anyways. Do you have a plan, or anything in mind at all?”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Nothing too precise. We have our lives at stake, and there’s only the subtle way of compromising that proves to be a valid prospect of defeating him. Otherwise, I’d have to kill him. News will spread quickly of his death, and it would lead to me if his rats rally together and testify.”

“So talking.” Emma glances down at her lap, closing her eyes for a second to think. “That’s the only way here right? I’m sure you can get the upperhand on him. Last time I checked, he apparently stormed off in anger of his pitiful defeat. If you can somehow bring it to his attention about something, perhaps you can win him over easily.”

Killian chuckles, leaning over to press a kiss to her cheek. “I suppose I’ll see to it then. Thank you, Swan.”

She nods, resting her hand on top of his. “Of course. When do you plan on going?” She at least needs time to prepare for whatever and whenever.

“Now that, well, uhm, _tomorrow_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm going to be warning you now about being prepared for the next chapter. Please don't kill me. I'm valuable because then no one will be able to finish the story if you kill me. (Just so you know, this isn't ending anytime soon, at least not yet.)_


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Return of the angst. Woopdy doo. 
> 
> **Warning:** Chapter contains violence.

“That’s… early,” she whispers.

Killian sighs, ripping his gaze away from the face of hers because he can’t stand to see any indication of denial. “I know,” he mumbles, closing his eyes at the thought. “But I want him gone from our lives as soon as possible. The earlier we do it, the faster we can do the moving on part.”

“And how ready are you to go in front of his face and set things straight?” she asks a worthy question there.

“To be frank with you, love, I'm not ready for his wrath at all.” He scrubs his face, trying to analyze their situation. “I may walk in there and he will kill me, but then again, he’d probably rather have me suffer for longer lengths of time than slaughter me quickly.”

“You’re forgetting me in the picture here, Killian. What if he wants me to suffer in misery for the rest of my life? He knows everything goes around us, he’s going to do everything it takes to make either of us be in pain for the rest of our lives.” Fair point. “You know I won’t be able to do anything if you’re gone…” Her voice sounds broken, and it shatters him too, in all the good and bad ways being shattered can be. He can’t leave her on this note.

“I know, darling. I promise you I shall protect you, and at your best interest, protect myself while I’m there. Remember when we both said we can’t see a life without each other in it? That’s deeply engraved in my heart, love. I know so well you’ve already been in pain before, I won’t let it happen again,” he promises her, letting his fingers slide through the hand she’s laid on earlier. “I wanted to tell you earlier, but when I returned with the food, I couldn’t say anything. My morning walk led me to diverge deep into my own thoughts, and for some reason a voice in my head said not to tell you, when the one in my heart told me to say it.”

“Apparently walks can really be a pusher,” she mutters, squeezing his hand gently. “It’s fine, though. You still told me, and that’s all that really matters. I just don’t want to lose you.”

“I believe you’ve already said that before,” he playfully teases, trying to lift the mood up.

She sends him a sharp glare, and he shrugs slightly. Emma sighs, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Can I at least go with you? Backup, even?”

“Emma-”

“I know, it’s dangerous. But I’m a grown woman, I’ve been alone from the beginning, I’ve protected myself for ages. I need to go. _Please_ \- I can’t just let you walk in there and expect to look death in the eyes. You said we make quite the team, right?”

“You’re guilt-tripping me, love.”

“I know, but I’m serious about this as much as you are. For once can I make a call? Can you trust me on this?”

“Of course I can trust you,” he murmurs, pulling her closely into his embrace. “I just don’t want to put you at harms risk.”

She pulls back, and it almost hurts because it’s quick and a retreat out of frustration and anger. “You’re putting yourself at harms risk! Have you ever thought that _I_ don’t want you to? Have you seen me pull you back and deny all of your plans? Do you see me trying to restrain you from doing something you want to because you think it’s right?” she snaps, asking the questions quickly, her voice itself showing the loneliness that’s been pent up. 

He scrambles around in his mind, trying to find the words to apologize, to say something at all to her to assure her that he didn’t mean to do that. He’s always been considerate in some sort of way, but perhaps this time around, it isn’t as much as he’s thought it is. “Swan, I didn’t-”

“I know you didn’t imply that, but it’s been triggered somewhere inside of me, so I’m going to keep talking anyways.”

He stays silent, letting her speak the words. He’s listened attentively to her before, and that was only about the past. This time it includes the present, and _their_ future.

“Let me ask you something, Killian. Have I ever refrained you from acting on your plans?” He shakes his head. “Exactly. For once, I just want you to _listen_ to me. I want you to believe in what I can do, I want you to know I want to be there if _something_ does happen. I don’t want to be a bystander and wait for endless hours, realizing that you’ve left. Because if you do, I’m always going to wonder why, and I don’t want that to be the only memory I hold.

“I want to come with you, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll go into the room. I’ll lurk around maybe, be the usual silent thief I am. Play a part of the shadows if I can, and if anything happens, then I’ll jump in. I just don’t want to be away, I don’t want to be shoved to the side like a baby needs protection. That’s all I request from you.”

“And what if I do meet my end, Swan?” He will face his own death, the death bestowed upon him will be well-deserved, _longed_ by himself even. It was his fault in the first place for conversing with a married woman who had (has) a psychopathic husband. “What will you do when you witness such a gruesome thing? It’s certainly not going to go as smoothly as we anticipate it to be,” he asks, clenching his right fist before finally letting it go. “Then again, I am a survivor. Thoroughly through many of the predicaments I’ve encountered,” he adds on, countering his own argument, letting the idea go for the slightest second.

She scoffs, shaking her head gently. “If you meet your death, I might as well avenge you there. And, survivor? That’s something I can agree on.”

“We both know how you take killing another person, love.” He takes her hand in his, rubbing patterns on her palm with his thumb. “I wouldn’t dare put you in such a situation where you’d have to do that again.”

“I can take care of myself. You think I can let your death be in vain?”

“It wouldn’t be in vain; I met the woman I truly, and most genuinely love, and that would be enough for me to lay myself to rest in peace.”

She shakes her head, smacking him upside on the head. “We’re not going there. You aren’t going to die. You said it yourself, you’re a survivor.”

“Well love, you’re absolutely correct. If there’s one thing I excel at, it’s very much surviving even with the greatest odds stacked against me.” He smiles, because even if her encouraging words are said in a sad tone, it leaves him fighting to change that to a happy one. “And you wound me, Swan. When did you become so physical?”

“I do what I want.” She leans into his side, and the warmth from earlier before she pulled away returns.

Killian chuckles, unable to fight the grin growing on his face. “Aye, I can tell.”

“Anyways, that doesn’t change a single thing though. I’m still going with you tomorrow. And believe me when I say I will be back up if anything really does happen. I will do whatever it takes because you know I can’t lose you either.” He doesn’t spot a single lie there.

“I know, love. I believe in you with all my heart,” he mumbles, pressing his forehead against hers. “My deepest apologies for being a little bit inconsiderate of your thoughts earlier. I’ve been overly focused on keeping you safe, it had never occurred to me about the way you should have had a say in things. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, really. You made a mistake, we all do, right?”

He nods, and everything behind that makes him regret so many things he’s done before. “Yeah. We all do,” he whispers. _I’ve made so many mistakes, and it’s taken me until now to act upon them to make everything right again._ He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. _If only you knew how much you have changed me, Emma Swan._

/-/-/-/-/-/

Saying she’s frightened would be an understatement. In fact, she thinks she’s going to end up seeing death herself. Gold is a dangerous man, a monster as Killian had described. If there’s one thing she knows, monsters aren’t exactly civil. They go on rampages, they’re demanding, and they don’t stop until they get what they really want.

In this case, it’s their lives. Or, suffering- for a hell of a long time if you’d ask them.

So what exactly makes her stomach churn at chasing speeds, makes a pounding headache in her brain, and makes her want to run away the further she follows Killian down the path to the base? To be concise, everything makes her want to run. The fear, the possibility of losing, the anticipated look on Gold’s face, and even her own instincts. But Killian is somehow keeping her grounded, like an anchor from a ship. It’s making her stay, instead of sailing away.

And the further she falls back because her steps falter, the quicker she catches up because she doesn’t want to lose track of the moments they can have before they arrive at their destination. Her eyes drift around, being extremely wary of her surroundings, even though they’re in a pretty closed off area of the city. 

The blood rushing up into her brain is making her feel a light dizziness, but she manages to keep it down until they’re standing not a couple of feet away from the doorway. He abruptly stops in his tracks and turns around to her, and his face is somewhat… tight, scared, sad, defeated even. She gives him a tight-lipped smile, assuring him that everything will go fine, even though they both know that’s unlikely. They won’t be having much of an advantage, yet they still hold onto that small bit of hope burning inside both of their hearts. If only there was any other way, but there isn’t.

She lets out a shaky sigh, closing her eyes, seeing the smallest bits and pieces of failure coming into her blinded vision. It’s like someone, something, is pulling her down into this hole of darkness, this hole of emptiness that can’t be replaced by anything else. Suddenly, she feels his lips attack hers in a fiery, passionate kiss. And there’s something wrong, something _missing_ from this attachment of a kiss, but she can’t pin herself down to notice what exactly it is. He pulls back all too soon for her to discover what’s wrong, and his ocean blue eyes, as vibrant as ever, is staring deep down into her soul. And she lets him do it, because this man’s brought her walls crumbling down, he can do it multiple times over and over again until he’s satisfied.

But that lingering feeling missing on her lips which is already starting to take an effect on her, makes her want to shriek once she realizes why the kiss feels so off.

It feels like _goodbye_.

All too well, she knows he knows they’ve promptly discussed this the day earlier in detail, but yet, there’s something holding him back from saying anything. There’s even something holding Emma back from barging in there, and lashing all of her stacked up anger against him. Before he pulls away from, she wraps her arms around him, letting her head fall to his shoulder. Tears are starting to threaten her eyes, the burning sensation prickling at the corners, but she pushes it back because _this is not goodbye_. She refuses to let defeat take over them this easily. Killian, _her_ Killian Jones is a survivor, a man of intelligence and bravery, even through his neverending innuendos and smug personality.

“I’ll come back to you, Emma. Promise me you won’t emerge, because Gold will do everything it takes to use either of us against each other in some sort of manner,” he whispers, keeping his forehead pressed against hers.

“You know me, I can’t make a promise I can’t keep.” She chuckles darkly, sighing because she’s trying her hardest not to think about the stress and suspense. “I’ll wait.” 

The muscles in his jaw tighten, but then they relax again. “Okay.”

Apparently, the security of Gold’s hideout isn’t as top-notch as she’s thought. Then again, making it a hideout, you can’t have it stand out with guards everywhere, and cameras in every nook and cranny that surrounds the building. They both walk in and he presses a kiss to her cheek before muttering a ‘See you,’ and rushing forward into the room where Gold awaits usually. This leaves her to explore, and of course, stay away from all possible imminent threats.

She keeps her distance, but the yelling is clear. She glances over her shoulder at the door he slipped into earlier, and it’s cracked open, a small faint bit of light showing through the rest of the darkness. She stays alert about her surroundings, staying put behind stacks of boxes. Emma tries to keep her nerves down while she listens to the arguing in the other room. Everything is loud and clear, which makes her fret even further because she _knows_ exactly what is going behind that not-exactly-closed door. Every word that comes out from Gold or Killian’s mouth resonates in her mind as her eyes flutter closed.

Bad mistake on her part however, because one of Gold’s henchmen catches her behind the boxes and pulls her out of there. She fights against his grasp, but a second man comes in to help the first, and soon she’s being restrained from any movement. Her arms are set straight, one man on each side pushing her down and forcing her to talk forward. Every time she stumbles or refuses to do as they say, they push downwards, causing pain in her arms.

The door in front of her opens up, and she can’t even adjust her own head to look up at Killian or Gold. She can’t. It’s impossible, because she’s vulnerable to a state of loss. They push her down onto her knees, which causes her to scrape them.

A bitter, dark laugh comes from Gold as he lifts her chin up. She keeps her eyes closed though, refusing to look him in the face. She just can’t. He orders the men to tie her hands up, and soon enough, she can feel the rope scraping her skin, definitely leaving a mark there too. “My, my. Jones, what a lovely lady you’ve brought in!” Mr. Gold exclaims, keeping his hands behind his back.

She keeps her gaze on the cold, hard floor under her. Her brain racks up about 100 reasons about the possibilities of her death, or the neverending chain of pain the man could give her. 

“Let her go! I’m the one you’re supposed to be punishing, not her,” Killian says, his voice faltering slightly. Gold may not notice it, but Emma can. She knows this man from head-to-toe, inside out. He’s scared too. No matter how flawless he can seem like, Emma knows his weaknesses, the holes in him. “She’s not your playtoy, Gold.”

“Boys, leave us to some privacy.” Gold waves off the two men, and they follow obediently. He returns back to his position in front of Killian.

This gives her time to do one thing, which is escape the ropes. She remembers she has the key to the apartment in her back pocket, and so it’s the first thing she tries to reach for without making herself seem to obvious. Killian should be able to buy her time, just enough for her to cut free of the small rope restricting her from moving her arms.

“Now, where were we? Ah, yes. _Your_ punishment. Miss Swan, I advise you look up this instant or else I may change my mind on who I shall take first,” he orders.

Emma’s eyes swiftly drift up, to see Gold with… some sort of axe. “Fuck you, Gold,” she curses under her breath, still keeping her hands on that key and trying to free herself. Her temper is rising quickly, which means she’s not going to be able to stay down on her knees for any longer. _Come on_ , she encourages herself, swiping the key as quietly as she can against the rope.

“What in the bloody hell are you going to do with that?” Killian asks, his volume raising higher. “Do you intend to behead me?”

Gold scoffs, shaking his head. “That’d be quite pointless. And, I’m not that _cruel_ of a man, Jones. I do intend to chop off a part of your body though, one that may very well hinder the possibility for you to ever give love to another woman as before,” he explains, nearing Killian slowly. “Alas, your affair has ruined my business. This is a lesson you shall learn from, and I hope it gets the message across this time, lad.”

She watches Killian slowly take steps back, his face tense, his shoulders tight, his steps slow and cautious. A man reemerges and pushes Killian forward, and down on top of Gold’s metal table. The loud clang of his face hitting the side of the table makes her grimace, and she refuses to look up. But, Gold warns her once again, so she lifts her gaze up to see Killian’s left arm spreaded across the table. It doesn’t take long until she realizes what Gold is planning to do, put together the pieces: An axe and a arm.

“No, no, no,” she mutters quickly, speeding up her pace. She needs to save him, save him at all costs. Through her frantic panicking, she can also hear Killian trying to stand up against him, but the same echoing sound of the banging on the table returns. 

“You won’t be able to love a one-handed boy now, will you?” Gold taunts, waving the weapon around. Tears are brimming at her eyes, but she refuses to back down, she refuses to give up.

“Emma, love, look away,” he says, his voice full of regret and defeat. “I love you,” he whispers, and it’s barely audible, but she _hears_ it.

Her heart cracks in half hearing his voice. By the time she’s escaped the ropes, the moment her head lifts up, Gold swings down and Killian’s hand flings away, hitting the floor, blood trailing behind it. He screams, and once again, her heart shatters into more pieces hearing him suffer in pain. The man holding him down backs away, and Killian’s body falls back, hitting the floor with a loud thump. The same sound of him screaming, the identical sound of him falling makes its place in her brain, becoming something permanent.

She can’t find anything in herself to stand up, to go against Gold, because seeing _him_ on the floor, with a bleeding hand is making her crumble down like her own walls. She’s losing him right now, so she finally gets up on both feet. Gold approaches her with a smaller weapon, a knife of the sort, and pokes at her patience, waving it around.

“So how does it feel to see your lover like this, dearie? I can certainly provide you the same fate,” he says, pointing the sharp edge at her.

“No.”

He laughs, and it sounds almost like a giggle- a _really_ creepy, dark giggle to be exact. “Stubborn woman, aren’t you? I suppose I’ll have to resort to brute force then.” And by the minute, he lunges forward and stabs her with the knife.

It doesn’t take long for the loss of blood to take over her senses, but before she allows herself to fall down to her knees to gain balance, she grabs his wrist and takes the knife out, turning it on him. He’s pushing against her, trying to loosen her grip, however Emma uses whatever strength she can gather to force it upon him. It takes her a couple of thrusts forward to get the knife into his body, and she drives it further, making it more painful for him than it is for her. She causes him to yelp in pain, and she lets him fall over his heels. 

However, with this blood circulation, she’s quickly losing blood, and her vision starts to become slightly blurry.

There are sirens, which means one of Gold’s men must’ve called the police. She collapses to the floor, and slowly crawls toward Killian. He’s watching her, but she can tell he’s just about to pass out due to blood loss as well. His face is pale, and there’s a pool of blood under his missing hand. “Killian,” she croaks, and before she can reach out for him, she passes out.

Everything turns black.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Apparently leveling with Gold is much more difficult than he thought. No matter what he brings up, Gold denies it. What goes from a somewhat civil conversation quickly takes a turn when the door behind him opens, and the hostage in the mans hands is exactly the person he _doesn’t_ want to see.

Everything happens so quickly. One minute he’s telling Gold to let her go, but the next, he’s pinned down again the cool metal of his table with his arm out for him. He pushes up, trying to get out of the servants grasp, but then he pushes down on him harder, his hand digging into the back of his neck, the leg in between his legs nudging him harder against the metal furniture. No matter how many times he tries to retaliate, he gets quickly denied by the man’s strength.

“You won’t be able to love a one-handed boy now, will you?”

And it’s true. How will she even be able to love him at all after all this? He’ll be worth nothing. He’ll be missing a hand, and he definitely won’t be the same man he was before. The only person who can save him is Emma, and she’s tied up, forced to watch. “Emma, love, look away,” he tells her desperately, trying to sound brave. But it doesn’t work. He sounds like a complete loser, an idiot. “I love you.”

He knew it was too farfetched for the man to let them go so easily. And when that horrendous thing chops down on his hand, the pain is all too much for him to even register. He cries in pain, like there’s a million needles stabbing into his body at the very moment. All the pain goes into his left hand, and he can’t think anymore. The man above him lets go, and he falls back onto the floor, unable to move because his body is clearly incapable by this point. 

He watches everything go wrong, he watches Gold go up to Emma with a knife of the sorts, he listens to her taunt him. He tries his hardest to say something, _anything_ , but nothing comes out of his mouth. He watches him take his attack on her, and then watches Emma turn the tides. _That’s my lass_ , he thinks to himself, a tiny smile almost making it to his face. But he has no strength, he can feel the missing part of his body, he can see it on the floor across from him. He tears his gaze away from it, and focuses on Emma, who’s slowly crawling across to him. _Stop it_ , but he can’t say a thing, can’t utter a single word of thanks or anything of how much he loves her. How much he wishes everything could have turned out differently, or better.

And as soon as she passes out in front of him, he blinks, trying to understand everything. The ambulance and police bust in, the door swinging wide open. He hears yelling, sirens, so many things are going on at once, but his eyes don’t move from her. _Is she dead?_ he wonders, as he’s being lifted onto the transporter. _Emma, I’m so sorry_. His eyes close to, but it’s unbeknownst that he’s slowly passing out as well, he just knows his last wish is for Emma to be okay.

/-/-/-/-/-/

It seems like forever, resisting the temptation of falling into the darkness forever, but he continues to fight it anyways. Days and night of endless medication, checkups, and boring conversations with the doctors start pulling at his nerves. Apparently, Emma hasn’t woken up yet, and it’s been four days since the incident. Every day, he gets a visit, and he hopes to hell and back it’s _her_ but it never is. It’s the doctor, a nurse, or the police asking for his side of the explanation.

Of course he tells the truth, unraveling every single piece of information he can give to the authority. For some reason, he doesn’t even fear the fact that he could be sent to jail as well. He was the one killing people in the first place, working for Gold. Reminder about Gold, he’s apparently alive, however not in the best of states- is it bad for him to be feeling satisfied that the man is suffering too? After years of putting him through possible suicidal missions, and ruining his relationship with Emma, he reasonable proposes that he’s perfectly sane and that the man deserved to be dead even. Then, he obviously doesn’t say anything to the police about that. Answer the questions, nod, smile, be polite, and then his day is done with social interactions.

It’s safe to say every day he glances down and notices his missing hand, every word exchanged that day, ever action taken, still clouds his vision. There’s no clarity, and if there’s one thing he knows, he’s quickly losing all hope. He wants to see Emma, he wants to hear news about her, but nothing coming into his room proves any significance. What adds on to this weight on his shoulders, is the fact he won’t be able to hold her with _two_ hands. A prosthetic won’t cut it for him. And it feels like something’s missing every time he wakes up from his sleep, because something is missing, and will never return to be the same.

So, everyday he refuses to talk about his hand at all, even when the doctor insists that they need to get a fitting for his prosthetic. Everyday, he goes to sleep with tears trying to spill out of his eyes because he’s in the most pain he’s been in for ages. Everyday, he wakes up with all the same thoughts and memories flooding back to remind him of his losses. Everyday he thinks of Emma in the hospital, with maybe the worst conditions threatening her life.

And for once, when someone else visits, it’s Robin who walks in. His face practically screams I-warned-you-about-letting-another-woman-in, even though he knows Emma is truly the one that fits for him.

“Doctor is telling me you’re being a stubborn arse,” Robin says, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I know you’re not willing to talk about any of this, but you can’t keep it in, mate. It’s only going to make your pain worse, and we both know you don’t want to go through this again.” He has a fair point.

Killian sighs, rolling his eyes at the topic. “I’m well aware of that.” He stares forward at the blank wall. “I don’t know what to do, mate. I- I don’t even know how she’s doing. They haven’t told me a single thing about her current status,” he mutters, raising his right hand to run through his hair. “It was one thing losing my hand, but it’s another throwing Emma into this entire thing. I shouldn’t have let her come with me, I knew the risks all along, yet I let her anyways.”

Robin scoffs, shaking his head. “Knowing her, she probably would have followed you anyways if you told her she couldn’t go.” He reaches out and pats Killian on the shoulder. “She’s a fighter, Killian. You know that. If I were you, I’d wait it out, see how it goes. Don’t give up just yet, and besides, Gold is probably going to be sentenced a lifetime in prison. There seems to be enough charges against him even without your situation on the list, so, at the least, your lives aren’t at risk anymore.”

Killian nods in appreciation. “Thanks, mate.”

“No problem.” Robin takes his phone out to look at the time. “Well, I’d better leave. I have something to do,” he tells Killian, but it’s a little too cheerful. Killian quirks an eyebrow, glaring at him. “I have a date to prepare for,” Robin concedes.

“Bloody hell, who with?”

Robin sighs. “Regina Mills.”

“That blasted woman who runs one of the largest companies in all of America? How in the world have you managed to grab your hands onto such a high ranked woman?” Killian asks, his eyebrows creasing together at the thought.

He shakes his head, waving his hand at him dismissively. “Long story short, I accidentally ran into her, and then it sort of hit off. Anyways, I’ll catch you later.”

“Good luck, and see you.” 

Everything is so obscure to him the moment Robin takes his leave, staring up at the ceiling. He closes his eyes to try and get some rest, and he’s sure the bags under his eyes have become quite obvious. Ever since everything happened, he hasn’t gotten a full nights sleep, at least not without seeing Emma in his dreams.

Perhaps today isn’t his day because he hears the door click open, and he automatically assumes it’s the doctor and groans out of his impatience to deal with the man.

“Killian.”

For one, it is not the doctor, but the voice, he knows that voice. He jerks his head to the side quickly, and she’s standing there idly with fear all over her face, but then like she’s washed over with relief, she smiles sadly. He can’t even move his face, his mouth, his eyes. He’s too busy drowning in the fact she’s _alive_ and _healthy_ and standing there in front of him.

“Swan- Emma, I’m sorry about everything. I dragged you into this entire monstrosity, and gods above you’re fine,” he says, the words all tumbling out like some secret confession he’s been holding in forever. And what sucks is that he can’t get out of bed and hug her, he can’t even hold her with his left hand anymore, and he winces. “I can’t… I wish I could have told you everything would be okay. But it wasn’t, and I’m the reason you nearly died.”

And he’s human, and though he usually doesn’t cry, he’s still a human with feelings, and the tears come streaming down his face like some waterfall, because his dam that has been holding back everything immediately _breaks_ the moment he sees her. There’s no more holding back or avoidance, there’s nothing else he can do to stay strong, because the moment he sees her, everything shifts in motion. And since it’s started, he can’t stop it, but _she_ can.

“Killian, it’s fine,” she mutters. “I’m fine.”

It’s too quick for him to realize, but her hands caress his cheeks, wiping away the tears as they fall. His eyes are most likely red, and his voice is most likely dried out by now, but he wishes so much he could just kiss her and wash away all the pain he’s felt for the past week.

“How has your hand been?” she abruptly asks, her thumb sweeping across his cheek. “I wish I could have stopped him… I tried, but I was too late with escaping the ropes.”

“Not your fault,” he coughs out, looking into her eyes. “I deserved it. I should have never gotten my hands dirty with a woman who was already married. I should have backed off the moment I knew, but I didn’t, and that led to all the resentment between Gold and I.” He swallows, hoping that the stack of frustration in the back of his throat can disappear soon. “But to answer your question, I suppose it’s okay. Painful on days, doctor told me it’s this bloody ‘phantom pain’ that keeps returning.” He glances down at his missing body part, and he immediately looks away. “I can’t handle it,” he chokes out. He really can’t stand seeing he’s missing a hand.

“You’ll get through it. You’re a tough guy, so I know you’ll make it through. I’ll be here, through it all. Just believe, Killian.”

Now he’s seeing things… Emma is fading from his view, like she’s a ghost, and it’s scaring him. “Emma?” he calls, trying to get a grasp on her. “Emma!”

There’s no response.

His eyes dart open in a dark room, the window the only thing in the room that shines some light in from neighbouring buildings. _Bloody hell_ , he thinks to himself, realizing that he’s still in the hospital, that he just had a stupid dream again. After Robin left, he drifted off and dreamed the entire thing up.

She’s not here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you still with me?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter because it's more of a bridge/filler.

Every night gets harder for him to fall asleep, because every night he gets haunted by a very realistic looking Emma Swan. She visits him every night, and he wishes she could visit him for real in the morning. He sighs helplessly, hoping he could just fall in a blinding dream forever and drift away from this world. Yet, there’s something in these dreams which give him some sensation of hope, desire, love, and most of all, patience. 

Robin visits daily, giving him some hope as well. He’s a good friend, and it turns out he’s actually dating Regina Mills now.

Anyways, Killian’s busy faking his sleep because the nurse that walks in always tends to flirt with him in some way, and he’s already denied her so many times, it’s becoming so redundant and tiring to deal with her. He’ll just have to talk to the doctor about getting a switch with caregivers. The only person he wants is Emma, and he wants to see her, hear her voice, touch her, and so many other things, but she seems still stuck to a bed as well, unknown of her status since they haven’t told him any of the details, both large and minor yet.

He’s pushing himself each day, and the phantom pain returns a lot of the times he’s trying to forget. It’s just a constant reminder of ‘oh look, you don’t have a fucking hand anymore,’ and it’s a struggle he needs to overcome, but it only proves to be more difficult the harder he tries. There’s only one person who can help him, but that person isn’t _here_.

So, he secludes himself, brings his own walls up around his heart, and goes back to being the silent, stubborn arse who won’t respond with much of an answer. They should be glad he even pays attention, they should be glad he at least nods or shakes his head. They shouldn’t be glad that they have a total Douchebag McGee taking up a room in their precious hospital. He’s purposely becoming someone else, and the only person who can change him isn’t _here_.

Each night rips him apart harder, and it makes it difficult for him to let her go for even the slightest second. He can’t slip away to anything before his mind goes to think about her, and how pale she could be, or how dead she could seem. He doesn’t know any of this though, he doesn’t know a single bloody thing about how she’s faring, and he deserves to know, so he decides that it’s time to push the doctor for answers, whether he likes it or not.

And the next morning, he really does go along and push for answers.

“When in the bloody world are you going to tell me how she’s doing?” he inquires, keeping his gaze fixed on the man in front of him with a clipboard. “I need to know, please.”

“She’s fine. Still recovering, but I heard she’s fine.”

Killian sighs, shaking his head as the man examines his stump. “You _heard_ , so you don’t _know_?”

“Look, Mr. Jones, we’re trying our best here. She’s alive, and that’s all you need to know. Right now, we’ll keep you updated on your new prosthetic,” he says, “and Miss Swan if you want.”

He sighs, and it’s because he feels relief. It’s one less thing to really be worried about. She’s alive, but just the state of her being alive? He’s unsure about that, but he’s rather happy he’s gotten a bit of details. “That would be highly appreciated, thank you,” he utters, glancing down at his arm. “Also, I would like for you to change the nurse who has been tending me for the past week.”

“And why’s that?”

He groans, rolling his eyes at the doctor’s ignorance. “You should know why.” 

“Alright, well that will be arranged. I suppose I shall leave yo-”

“Killian?”

He blinks a couple of times, recognizing the voice. He glances over the doctor, and notices the familiar figure leaning against the doorway with the help of a nurse. “Emma,” he breathes out, trying to find his breath beneath the excitement and relief.

“Sorry Doc, she couldn’t stay down anymore and had insisted on coming to see Jones,” the nurse explains, shrugging slightly.

“It’s fine, sit her down and leave them to privacy. They deserve it I guess,” the doctor mumbles, slipping past the nurse and leaving.

This time, he hopes it isn’t a damn dream, because it feels real like usual, and he hopes it is real for once. His eyes are fixed on Emma the entire time, the nurse helping her into the seat before she curtly nods and leaves them in privacy in his hospital room.

He doesn’t know where to start. “Hi.”

“That’s all you’re going to fucking say after you nearly died in front of me?” she asks, the lilt in her voice showing a bit of anger. “Because I nearly died in front of you, and I couldn’t even bear to think you were in this bed, probably angry and going mad because they don’t even let you take one step out of this room before they barge in and make you go back to bed.”

“You must firmly believe I am everything you have briefly described. I am angry, frustrated, and bloody hell woman, I’ve been dreaming of you every night!” He sighs, shaking his head in shame. “I wake up in tears because I’m only human enough to persuade myself that I’m okay during the day, but never during the night. I don’t even know if this is real right now. I’ve asked for you several times, but the doc had dismissed the idea practically every time, and that led me to think you weren’t doing well. For one moment, don’t you dare put any blame on me for not being direct with you any sooner. If it had been my choice, I wouldn’t have had to come with me, because that put _both_ of our lives at risk.

“I wanted to call out for you when you fought Gold, but nothing came out. I wanted to reach out for you, but my body was frozen, as if the bloody devil took control over me. There were so many things bothering me then, love, and it pained me to see myself unable to enact on anything because my nerves were a mess.”

“I assure you, I am very real at the moment.” Emma glances down at her feet. “I would have went anyways, Jones. Also, to be honest, I didn’t wake up until like two days ago. Turned out my wound was pretty bad, I lost a lot of blood, but they managed to make me recover enough.” She laughs softly, taking his right hand in hers. “I just… I’m angry. I wish I could have have killed Gold earlier… He took your hand, I can’t, I can’t believe he did it, if I had escaped any sooner, I could have saved you.”

He squeezes her hand gently, assuring her he’ll be okay. “It was destined to be, Swan. I deserved it for the many of mistakes I’ve made. Perhaps my hand was a sacrifice, it was already a done deal by the time Gold had his man strain me against my own will.” He winces, the phantom pain returning, but he shrugs it off. "It was me, being helpless on the floor unable to save you from Gold's attack."

"Sorry to break it to you buddy, but one hand probably wouldn't have accomplished much," she says. He cringes and looks back at his missing hand. "Bad timing for a hand joke, sorry. But, I think for both of us, it was meant to happen."

"Swan, do you still love me?" he asks, wondering if she still does. It's the hand giving him doubts about himself, and it shouldn't be doing that, but it is, and it's too late now to retract any of his words or intentions.

"Of course I do. Do you think I'd love you any less because you're missing a hand?" He doesn't answer her, and she sighs, squeezing his hand gently. "You lost your hand for me, and even if it wasn't for me, I'd still love you. No matter what, you're still a whole, a human, and a man who is vulnerable and has a weakness, no matter how much of a hardass you can appear to be." She leans forward and kisses his cheek, the feeling lingering there. "Don't hide away, Killian. Don't let the hand loss bring you down, because through all of this, I promise to be with you."

The words are familiar, as he recalls it's similar to the ones he's heard in his dreams. He closes his eyes and nods curtly, hoping that he's not dreaming all of this up again. When his eyes open wide, she still there, smiling gently. "Thank you," he mumbles, holding her hand tighter. "We'll be out of here soon. Once I get a clear for my new hand and all..." He hasn't mentioned it to her yet. "Uh, that's right... I'm getting a prosthetic, and I know it won't be nearly as good as my original hand was, but... I need it because I want to hold you with both my hands."

She nods and presses a short-lived kiss to his lips. "Thanks for being so considerate, but I love you with or without that hand. As long as it can make your life a bit easier, it's fine by me."

"That's the thing, lass. It makes my life easier, but not easy. Everything's going to be hard to getting used to. I fear I will be attending physical therapy for awhile until I gain full control over my new hand," he says softly, acknowledging his future. "Bloody hell, I'm going to have to attend therapy!" he complains, closing his eyes. 

She laughs. "I'll accompany you if you'd like. If it makes it any better that is," she offers.

"You always make things better, love. It would be a great honour to have you as an accomplice through this entire process."

"Then that's settled." She yawns. "I should get back. I know there's a lot to talk about, but you weren't the only one having dreams. I've barely gotten like three hours of sleep, and I'm exhausted and can barely keep my eyes open," she says, rubbing her eyes.

And at that moment, he refuses to let her go. "Can you stay with me?" He scoots over a little in the bed, and she sighs, nodding. She climbs into the bed, and the familiar feeling of being home, and being happy returns. "Will you still be here when I wake up?" he asks softly.

"Yeah. I will.”

/-/-/-/-/-/

The pain in her torso hasn’t left since, but she acts perfectly fine because she needs to look strong. Be strong for him, even if it means faking a smile, or using their conversation as a distraction. After she woke up blinking in the light, she had to see Killian.

First time, the doctor completely denied the request. Second time, the doctor completely denied the request. Third time, well, rhetorical as it is.

It wasn’t until the fourth where she demanded for it, and the nurse helped her.

Now she’s in bed with him, a very cramped, tiny, single bed, but everything she feels once again is right. Home, because home isn’t a place, at least not necessarily to her. As long as she can follow Killian, be with him, she’s home. A thing she’s never had, and now clings so dearly onto.

It doesn’t take too long for her to fall asleep, because after all, her entire body demands for rest. Especially that wound that still feels as if it’s fresh. And for the first night in two days, she gets a good sleep without any dreams. There isn’t a ghost of Killian haunting her sleep, or even anything on her mind. She’s just sleeping peacefully- disregarding hospital machine beeping- next to him, with him. If only this wasn’t in the hospital, and back at the apartment, in a more spacious bed.

When Emma wakes up, she realizes it’s only in the late afternoon. She glances over to the side, seeing Killian smiling at her. “Staring at me while I sleep?”

“Sorry, love. Had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming this up again,” he answers, leaning over to press a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you for staying, however. That helped me sleep, for I just woke up about five minutes earlier than you did.”

She can feel the bubbling in her stomach, which is a good sign. She gives him a small smile. “Anything to make you feel better.” She sighs. “Damn, I missed you so much. I didn’t even know how long I was out.”

“I can confirm that you woke up at least a week after the event.”

A _week _? she thinks, trying to take that in. “You’re serious?” _They were not kidding when they said I lost a lot of blood.___

__“Aye.”_ _

__“And you waited that entire week, hoping that I would wake up?”_ _

__“Aye.” He chuckles, taking her hand in his. “For the record, Swan, it wasn’t much of hoping you would wake up, I knew you would, I just hoped to know when.”_ _

__“Sounds…”_ _

__He interrupts her, “Cheesy?”_ _

__“Pretty much.” She laughs, and god does the pain return at the worst possible moment- thanks for ruining everything. “And shit, the pain’s back,” she mutters, closing her eyes._ _

__Killian gently squeezes her hand, just a small action of assurance, love, care. Even that makes her heartbeat stutter because she’ll never get over how she even _deserves_ a man like him in her miserable life. “Why love, you’re quite vulgar when you’re in pain,” he claims._ _

__“Of fucking course,” she mumbles, pushing her head back into the pillow, even though there’s no where that pillow can go. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to refrain from making any innuendos or jokes, otherwise you’ll have to listen to me swear every five seconds until the wound goes away.”_ _

__“You know me darling, I can’t make any promises I can’t keep, and that is one that I won’t be able to keep,” he whispers into her ear, causing him to grin. “Just tell me when to stop, and I shall heed to your very command.”_ _

__“Deal,” she mumbles, opening her eyes again to stare at the ceiling._ _

____

__/-/-/-/-/-/__

__**2 Weeks Later** _ _

__Life could not get any worse. Well, perhaps it could, but shit’s going down, and neither of them like the consequences that they’re walking out of. For one, there’s not much compensation for the fact he lost his hand- not that he was expecting any._ _

__Though, about the entire reason and case, he’s not exactly on the bright side of things. Gold’s going to be sentenced to a lifetime in prison, which satisfies them both, except Killian. The police is slowly unraveling the entire case, and apparently that meant going through his apartment. Weapons were found, and fuck, good thing he cleared out most of his shit beforehand. They only managed to find a gun and some explosives that were untouched in the back. Not as bad as they’d expect it to be, but the thing is, he’s still going to be convicted of stuff._ _

__They’ve developed that Killian was working under Gold, hence the reason of his now-missing hand, and the armaments they found. It’s inevitable, and though he wants to keep up up a strong façade, when Emma’s not in his room, or she goes out to buy something, he breaks down because he _doesn’t_ want to go to jail. He can’t just leave her like this, he can’t but he needs to, because it’s the law, and when the law speaks, it _speaks_ and is enforced._ _

__And when she rushes into the room, the one thing she does is comfort him as much as she can, but it proves pointless because the court date arrives starts nearing quickly. Which means he’s going to end up in jail very soon, and he’s mildly prepared- _not_ prepared. There’s not much hope, and there’s nothing they can do to change the jury’s mind, so he just waits for the day he gets sent to the one place he’s always wished not to go to._ _

__They’re all sitting in the court, Killian staring down at the ground, unable to make any eye contact with anyone. His lawyer tries his best, but can’t do much. He’s sentenced to a minimum of 20 years, but then it gets reduced to 10 because he’s already lost his hand, and because he was in a forced contract to work under Gold._ _

__And that means he won’t be getting out until he’s 37._ _

__Everyone is dismissed and the case is closed. Killian doesn’t move, he stays seated with his jaw clenched, his hands turning into fists. Emma shakes his shoulder, and his lawyer apologizes that he couldn’t do anything more._ _

__All this anger inside of him, boiling, waiting at some point to be released and evaporated is killing him. He’s trying his hardest to fight the urge to punch something or _someone_ in the face, and honestly that’s not turning out so well._ _

__“Killian,” she mumbles, sitting down next to him. “We gotta go.”_ _

__“You mean I have to go,” he mutters angrily, shaking his head. “Bloody hell Emma, I won’t be out for _ten_ years!”_ _

__“At least they lessened it,” she says softly. “I know you don’t find this fair, and I wish I could have been able to do something, but the case has been closed. It’s too late… You know how much it pains me to see you have to go to prison for things you were _forced_ into doing?” She rests her hand on his thigh, and somehow it makes him relax. “I’ll make you this promise. Each month, I’ll come visit you. We can talk about anything you want, as long as you behave yourself. How does that sound?”_ _

__He lets out a shaky breath and nods, letting his fists go. “I don’t want this.”_ _

__“Neither do I, but we don’t have much of a choice, Killian.”_ _

__And she’s right, she’s fucking right in all ways. At least they lessened it. At least it’s not 20 years. At least she’ll visit him._ _

__But for 10 years, he won’t get to kiss or hold Emma Swan, for 10 years he won’t be able to wake up with her in his arms, for 10 years he’s going to miss her growth. What if she moves on from him? What if she finds another man, gets married, has children, and forgets about him all together?_ _

__“Hey, Killian, look at me.” She nudges his shoulder gently, and he swallows, hesitantly looking up at her. Emma’s eyes are red. “Don’t let this get you down. You never know if they’ll let you out early. I’ll wait for you, I promise you that too. Just please, _please_ , don’t get into any trouble at the prison because I don’t want to wait any longer than what I need to because you decided to fuck yourself over my doing something extremely stupid.”_ _

__“Okay.” Before he knows it, he’s crying too, because he can’t lose her. “I’m going to miss you, Swan. There won’t be a day that’ll go by where I won’t think of you.”_ _

__She smiles sadly and takes him in for a hug. “Good.”_ _

__He brushes his lips against hers softly, just so he can take in his last moment. His goodbye._ _

__And the rest of that day, he loses touch with her the moment he steps into that horrible building. Keeping his head down, he stares blankly at the floor while he gets pushed forward and into jail. It doesn’t take long for people to start picking on him, especially because of his prosthetic. After physical therapy, he’s learned to get used to maneuvering the bloody contraption, and boy would he like to test it on some faces. But he practically promised Emma he wouldn’t get into any trouble. Definitely not going to get into anything, especially on the first day. Not only would that be a bad impression to the guards, but also building a damned reputation in the horrible place._ _

__Stench, dirt, hard beds, confined in a small space with a cell mate. In fact, his cell mate isn’t actually that bad of a person. He keeps to himself, says ‘Hi’ sometimes, and that’s about it. If only everyone would treat him that way. But prisoners aren’t all nice, because some of them scream the real definition of ‘murderer,’ or ‘robber.’_ _

__During dinner, he keeps to himself. It doesn’t take long until some assholes decide to throw food at him, or gossip like fucking teenage girls behind his back. While they’re outside, he talks to a couple of the nicer guys who aren’t complete douchebags. They aren’t strangers, but they aren’t friends, just some people to speak to casually when he doesn’t feel like being alone. And then, it’s the return back to the cell for the rest of the night. He lays on the top bunk, staring at the dirty ceiling. He sighs and closes his eyes, trying to get some sleep, and of course, the rest of his sleep consists of Emma._ _

__Nothing matters anymore, only the time that slowly passes does. He doesn't stress as often as she should, and he's only three months into his sentence. He learns and catches on quickly. This means having to join a gang, because he's seen what happens to outcasts. And although every day has a new change, or something different happens from the regular, his nights remain the same. He still dreams of her, her happiness, her laughter, her sorrow and pain. But, she's kept her promise of visiting him and that's the only bright side of his life_ _

__"Hey," she says, smiling. "How's it been?"_ _

__"Not too horrible. Everything goes by so slowly, love. I miss you," he responds, trying to keep a smile on his face. "What about you?"_ _

__She chuckles, shaking her head. "I guess it's been fine I guess. I got a job at least, but it's been stressing me out a lot. Balancing myself between three different obligations can be a lot harder than I thought."_ _

__"I see. What's your new job?"_ _

__"Bail bondsperson."_ _

__"Working for the law now, huh, Swan?" Kilian teases, letting a small smirk climb his face. "I bet you're a phenomenal bail bondsperson. I'm proud of you, love. You're doing the right thing, so I suppose a congratulations is in order, so congratulations." He feels his hands turn from warm to cold suddenly, clenching them into fists because he wants to break this divider between them._ _

__"Thanks. Though wearing dresses and going on fake dates to chase after a guy who skipped bail is harder than you think."_ _

__He laughs, and she does too. God, how much he misses being with her each day. "Unfortunate that I can't see you in a stunning dress, Swan. We've yet to go on a proper date, and once I'm out of here, I'm taking you out on one, whether you like it or not. I know how to plan an evening out." He winks at her._ _

__She sighs, nodding. "Sounds like jealousy. Funny. I look forward to it, though I really wonder how well you can plan a date. The last time we did a date, I beat you in your own game.”_ _

__“You know how to chase down criminals, I know how to plan an evening out." He raises an eyebrow. “And, I was the one who taught you how to play darts, give me some of that credit, Swan.”_ _

__Emma scoffs, a small smile dancing upon her lips. “Yeah, yeah.” She turns her head to look at the man who approaches her. "Anyways, I think its time I get going. The guard is gonna punch me if I stay any longer than I should. Love you."_ _

__"And I, to you, Emma."_ _

__Watching her leave, he immediately frowns because he misses her way too much. The guard tugs on his shoulder, and he abides, but he glances over his shoulder just to see her out of his view. He sighs helplessly, being put back into his cell._ _

__His cellmate, whose name is Lawrence, is quite a patient and attentive guy like Killian himself. They talk a lot, and they get along well. Perhaps fate which was on his side, decided to give him a kind cellmate, rather than a total asshole._ _

__“Another visit from your lady friend?” Lawrence asks, sitting on the edge of his bed._ _

__Killian curtly nods. “Aye.”_ _

__“You love her a lot, don’t you?”_ _

__“Very much so. We met on unusual circumstances, and we didn’t get along well in the beginning, but time took it’s place and changed us both.”_ _

__He nods, there’s a look in his eyes like he understands him almost. Weird though. “I see. I got a wife and kids too, ya know? Got convicted for drug dealing, which as you know, was a false charge in every way. Jury don’t listen though.”_ _

__“Jury takes evidence to make charges, not the truth,” Killian exclaims, lying down on his bed._ _

__“Now that, I can agree with.” Lawrence sighs. “Complete and utter bullshit if you ask me. But, at least I’m stuck with a guy who’s not a dick.”_ _

__“Yeah, mate. I suppose we got lucky there.”_ _


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow burn, I suppose.

Life goes on. It really does. But she hasn’t been faring as well as she’s been wanting to. After the visit to Killian, she finds herself awfully distracted more than she should be. It’s affecting her work performance slightly but she covers it up enough to make it seem like she’s doing fine. The thing is, no one knows about her past, and no one really knows about her visits to Killian at jail.

The only good thing that’s been well in her life so far is the fact she’s made a couple new friends. Some would say it’s her turning point. David Nolan who is basically her boss, is a nice guy, a little protective, but nice. Mary Margaret who drops by sometimes to give him his coffee for the day is his longterm girlfriend, and it’s surprising they haven’t yet married because damn can she see the looks they make at each other. They’re practically married without being married. It’s not her business though, so she keeps her nose in her own book, and refrains from anything of their relationship.

And it sort of feels odd, because sometimes when Emma’s around them, she feels like she can belong somehow. Like a family of the sorts, yet not family, but really close friends. And she’s glad about that. 

Not to mention the outgoing brunette she’s met at his diner. Her name’s Ruby, which ironically fits her because she has a couple of red streaks in her hair, but other than that, she’s a feisty. And although Emma finds her a bit too talkative, she’s a big help when it comes to encouraging her to do certain things, or like reserving her order exactly the way she wants it because of how often she drops by each night to catch a drink or snack.

But, still, stress levels are as high as ever. Chasing someone in high heels is not ideal, and never will be, because Emma decides to drop them to go after his perp. Let’s just say, by the time she gets back to the apartment she’s shared with Killian for so long, her first idea is to drop on the couch. Yeah, she passes out immediately without being able to make it to bed. That turns out as another bad idea, because the next morning, her back is sore, her neck is strained, and she can barely find enough strength to pull herself off from the couch.

She didn’t even change last night. 

Needless to say, taking a shower makes her nostalgic and reminiscent of her old habits with Killian. He used to always shower before her, because she was a total pussy when it came to showering first. Maybe it was because she was never used to have a normal life, like a normal person. The day she first showered in so many years, reminded her of the days she used to be soaked in rain under a heavy, dark thunderstorm. It used to remind her so much about how she was quite frightened of thunder because she never knew where it came from. 

And through her foster homes, none satisfied her, none satisfied her foster parents, none satisfied her teachers, and hence, the shitty chronicles of her life went on.

However through so many years of struggles, abandonment, loneliness, and being stuck in the dark, she’s finally managed to pull herself out- credit to Killian Jones- and change her life for the better. Not that Killian being gone was a change for the better (in some ways, it’s motivated her to do something with her life instead of being a criminal herself), which by all means, could say it’s changed for the better. But, sleeping in an empty bed, remembering the dead silence she _hates_ because it reminds her of how she’s cried herself to sleep before due to being in a real shitty place at a real horrendous time? Not the good side of her life of course, and definitely not a side she’s ever going to be willing to share with anyone but Killian himself.

Pulling herself together, Emma changes, grabs her phone and keys, and leaves the apartment. It’s been three months.

Three months since Killian’s leave to jail. Three times she’s visited him, and within those three times, she used up every second that she was given to talk to him. It’s never enough to satisfy her though, because the moment she walks away, and he goes in the opposite direction, something urges for her to just run away, to forget about everything, to forget about _Killian_ , and to go back to her old ways. But, then there’s this other thing urging her to move on, to grow, to punch back and prove to everyone, including herself, about who she truly is, and will be.

As follows, the next couple of days are either sorting through some paperwork about her new chase down, or actually chasing someone down. And each night- wait, no, early mornings she ends up in the same place because she doesn’t know how to let go.

She ends up burrowing herself in Killian’s bed, which still smells like rum and leather, and she never gets tired of it. Even if it means reminding her where he is now, she just wants to stay in bed and never get out. The window is creaked open, and she’s unwilling to get out of bed because she’s dead tired, so she curls herself up and misses the open arms of him keeping her warm and safe. And gods, the same scent fills her nose each night.

Is it that obvious she’s not in a good mood? Apparently so, because when she strides into the office to grab her folders to read over some details, David’s sending her sudden glares of concerns, and it starts to annoy her because none of this business is supposed to concern him. It only makes it worse when he actually decides to ask.

“Emma, are you alright? You seem a bit annoyed or something,” he exclaims.

She glances up from the folder and sighs. “Tired. Didn’t get home until really late yesterday, and I ended up waking up earlier than intended and couldn’t go back to sleep.” She flips through the papers and sighs a second time because it’s another time to deal with some stupid people who skipped bail.

“You should take a two-day break, you’ve been working really hard on these perps, and I think you having a bit of a rest will bring you back to normal.”

“I insist that I’m fine, David. A good rest is all I need, and I’m sure I can squeeze that in somewhere, so, yeah. I don’t want you setting aside time for me to take a break because I seem like I can’t take care of myself. I assure you, I’m fine,” she says sternly, dropping the folder down at her desk.

“When someone says that, they’re not fine.” He leans back in his chair, stretching his feet out under the table. “I may only have known you for two weeks, but you’re one of the hardest working people in the department at the moment, and a two-day break isn’t that much to ask for. I’m your boss, I’m ordering you to take a two-day break starting tomorrow.”

“Really?” Emma drawls out, rolling her eyes at how stubborn he can be- persistent too. “So what’re you going to do if I come into work tomorrow morning?”

He laughs carelessly, shaking his head. “I’m going to drive you back home and make sure you stay in that apartment.” He rolls his chair back so he’s sitting up properly again. “And don’t test me on that, Emma. I will do it.”

“Fine, whatever.”

“Hey, don’t sass me!”

“You took it the wrong way, Dave. But, it’s alright, really.” She chuckles, yawning shortly after. “Thanks for expressing your concern though.”

He nods. “Of course! Any time, Emma.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go trash talk a couple of skippers now."

/-/-/-/-/-/

For those two days, she's dropped by The Rabbit Hole, and so many things just get flushed into her mind at once, Robin even realizes. It pulls at her gut because she knows exactly what Robin is thinking, and thinking of saying, but damn, it's good thing he keeps his mouth shut. One night, her last break, she's playing darts in the corner of the bar, everything so fresh and raw about Killian teaching her. Patience, trusting her abilities, every single word of advice still lingers in her mind. Don't even get her started about the accent, and how low his voice seemed that very night.

However her practice gets interrupted by a familiar person. He's a great guy in the department, has a high reputation and everything.

“Emma, I didn’t know you were a sucker for darts,” Graham exclaims, dropping down into the closest seat.

She sighs, throwing the dart, damn, close to bullseye. So close. “Well, you learned something new about me today, Graham.”

He chuckles. “Where’d you get that good? I haven’t seen a good player in ages,” he asks, propping his elbow on the small table.

It stings. The not-so-subtle memory of Killian teaching her, the day she beat him (oh boy the aftermath too), everything that she’s been trying to avoid for the last two days comes crashing down at her immediately because he asked a question. “A friend of mine taught me awhile back,” she answers softly, spinning the dart around in her hands. Not a lie, but now she’s cautious about how she’s acting. This is the problem behind keeping everything inside her walls.

“Sensitive topic?”

“Sort of, I guess.” She shrugs picking the current dart off of the board. “I’ve never seen you around here, what’s up, Graham?”

He hesitates for an answer, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. “Noticed you drop by here often.”

“Stalking me?” she asks, aiming the dart at the target

He shakes his head, swirling a glass of whatever the hell he’s drinking in his hand. “Was on patrol, like the usual.” There’s a pause, as if he’s about to say something else, and dear god, he does. “I was wondering, if you’d like to go out for dinner sometime? I mean, you don’t have to if you want, I’d understand.”

Her heart is pounding, because this is exactly the kind of thing she needs to avoid. No more relationships further than friendship. No more letting people in so easily, and no more being a reckless romantic. “You’re a great guy and all, but I’m not looking for a relationship at the moment. Sorry, Graham,” she answers him. 

“It’s fine. Just wanted to give it a shot, and who am I to deny a lady’s wish? On another note, I’d better get going. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. ‘Night Graham.”

Shortly after Graham’s departure, she pays her tab for the night and says goodnight to Robin out the way out. By the time she’s back at the apartment, her entire head is throbbing in some sort of headache, so she grabs a couple of painkillers and water to subdue it for the night. By the time she’s in bed, the only thing she remembers is that Graham asked her out, and now she’s sulking around in her own pain of missing Killian’s presence.

The next morning, she feels hungover, though she didn’t really have many drinks the previous night. The pain in her head is gone, but her neck is still sore from the time she dropped on the couch. The familiar scent invades all of her senses, her legs are a tangled mess under the covers, and she’s staring at the blank spaces. _It’s too early_ , she supposes, having to get a quick glance over at the digital clock sitting on the table. “Way too early,” she grumbles, throwing the sheets over her head.

If there’s anything pushing her to get out of bed and prepare for the remainder of her day- which results in talk, run and repeat- it’s some nagging voice of Killian telling her to move her lazy ass. If there’s anything she’d like more, it’s a day to herself without _him_ popping up into her mind, haunting her 24/7. Being in a jail when you’re relatively innocent, a horrible environment, and possibly damaged people surrounding him? She doesn’t know how he’ll be in a couple of years, and it hurts to even think about the possibility of him changing into some new man she doesn’t recognize.

And within the three times she’s visited him in the three months of separation, each day passes by to only prove to be harder to cope with. No matter where she is or what she’s doing, her mind does one thing, her body does another. Her body does the work, her mind does the stupid thinking that she hates.

And _fucking_ damn, does she wish she could move on and just be patient and wait.

But patience isn’t much of a virtue for her, and if it’s waiting she has to do, for _years_ , she’s unsure about it at all. Every night will be the same, and _god_ , she just wants to touch him and hear him and feel every inch of his skin against hers again.

But damn, does this distance hurt so badly. So much that she can’t sleep sometimes. So much when she’s chasing down a guy who ditched his wife and kids and did something illegal, that she hopes that her life won’t turn out like that. Because everything, in the end, comes in a full circle.

Plus, with Graham taking the risk with trying to ask her out on a date, she panicked. Badly. Hesitance took over her body at that moment, and to be honest, she’s not exactly hoping to see him at work. Not that she will though, she’s probably going to be going about another guy- not in high heels- so, it’s safe to say she may not see him around for a bit. And it’s not a total effort of avoiding Graham, he’s nice, friendly, generous and everything a woman could wish for, but this _safety_ she feels, this easiness, it’s not something she wants, and definitely not with Graham.

Maybe it’s the thrill of the old-thief in her speaking. She wants risks, dangers and so many more things, as long as it’s consequence doesn’t end with her heart being shredded to pieces. Emma Swan is complicated, as complexity has been her sort of thing since the beginning- simplicity is a no-go- and it probably won’t change a thing about the way she is. Ever.

While she drives to work in her yellow bug, things are never in her favour. When she pulls into the parking lot, she finds herself being greeted by a joyful Mary Margaret leaving. Emma likes her, she does, but this woman is always in a good mood, and she can only wonder why. It’s like her entire body and personality screams ‘optimism’ and ‘hope,’ and Emma does not need a reminder about being hopeful. That’s been her life for years- hoping for nothing in particular. Not until Killian waltzed into her life, well the other way around, but then she started feeling hope about their relationship, and look where they are now. Ex-thief working for the law, ex-assassin serving his not-so-deserved time in jail. Wonderful.

/-/-/-/-/-/

**TWO YEARS LATER**

It’s a Sunday, frigid weather outside where she doesn’t want to leave the comfort of the apartment, but she needs to because it’s the date where she’s supposed to visit Killian. He’s been in jail for a little over two years now, and it feels like forever. She hates this.

So much. And she can’t do anything but endure it.

And what good will it do going there anyways? Christmas is in a week, and she’s been spending her granted two week break doing nothing except watching Netflix, and drinking hot chocolate. Everything in her life is as empty as ever, and whenever she thinks about it, whenever she wants to call out for Killian, she remembers it’s only _her_ , and it’s always been _her_ alone. Though she knows that’s not true, it’s still yelling at her to know that he’s gone, and won’t return for a very long time.

By the time she’s at the jail, the man who always greets her has already become really fond of her schedule.

She’s enraged.

“Killian, what in the fucking world happened to your face?” Her blood is boiling, she can feel it seeping through her hollow bones, and she’s never asked for this. 

“A fight, love. Nothing uncalled for,” he mutters.

She sighs, shaking her head out of disappointment, because he couldn’t listen to her for once. “You promised you wouldn’t get yourself into trouble.” She leans back in the chair, her hand scrubbing up and down her face in frustration.

“Please, Swan.” He scoffs bitterly and it makes her wince at his response. “I never intended for it to happen, but that’s how the jail life is. You didn’t honestly think I would be able to sit around in peace forever, did you?” He cranes his neck. “I had to fend for myself. Bloody bastard probably has a broken nose now.”

“Killian.”

“I’m sorry, but to be quite honest, I’m not much of the same man from two years ago.” _Well, isn’t that obvious?_ But, it hurts to even think about it, it hurts to know he’s aware of his own behaviour. “But my heart has never stopped aching for you.” He sighs, the pain in his eyes clouding the regular blue innocence she used to see. “The fight was about me defending my own honour, I lost my temper because they were insulting me about how no one could ever love a man like me.”

“And you believed them?” she asks, her eyebrows creasing together in confusion.

Empty air, hanging words, no answer.

“You really think you can’t be loved, Killian? If that’s how you feel, I wouldn’t visit you every month to talk to you, to see you.” She slams her hands on the table, looking at him intently through the glass separator. “If that’s how you feel, do you want me to walk out and never come back again? I can surely keep a promise for that, because I did _not_ leave the comfort of _our_ apartment on holiday break to come find out you got in a stupid fight.”

“You feel obligated to come here, lass. You made me a promise, and you said you wouldn’t break it.”

“It was more than a promise! It was me giving you my _trust_.”

“Then you trusted the wrong man, Swan! I have never loved a woman so much until I had met you. And I can’t do anything to be with you, because I’m stuck here thanks to the bloody devil who cursed my destiny!” He slams his fists which are cuffed on the surface. “I can’t keep my promise of not getting into trouble, because every piece of trouble I get into relates with _you_ , and I can’t stand around and take the hit like it means nothing, because it means _everything_!”

Ouch… that hurt. A bit.

More than a bit actually. 'Then you trusted the wrong man, Swan!' echoes.

She doesn’t know what to say really. Both out of breath and speechless, she only manages to conjure a couple of words up in time. “So I’m the source of your troubles?”

“Aye. And you bloody well do a good job at troubling me because I can’t let you go, even though I should.”

It takes a lot of guts to say it, but she might as well set it straight now. She did not come out here to argue with him, she doesn’t intend to leave here without him knowing one thing. “You know, I might as well stop visiting you. I’m adding fuel to the fire.” And god, that statement hurts to say, but she needed to, and now she already regrets it in a way, because she’s going to miss seeing him if she does stop visiting. Her mind doesn’t have an answer yet.

“Please don’t,” he begs, the blue in his eyes returning, no longer dark and stormy.

She laughs softly, and it’s a sad laugh that she knows herself. She shifts her feet slowly, shaking her head. “Too late. Might want to reconsider your words for next time, Jones.”

“So will there be a next time?”

“No promises.” The pause grows in between, but before she turns her back on him, she sees the abandonment in his eyes. “I learned that I shouldn’t make one that can’t be kept, because it only breaks hearts further than they deserve.”

And for the first time in two years, she goes home and cries. Just what exactly has she done?

/-/-/-/-/-/

Like two ships passing by the dawn of the day, Killian has royally fucked up his entire relationship with Emma Swan.

To say he doesn’t regret what he said earlier would be a lie. He does regret every single word, because he was angry, frustrated, lost, and almost done with _everything_ done with all of his stupid life. No matter much he can keep up his gumption self, it’s not going to last long because he just pretty much lost the one thing that really matters to his life. Just with the snap of a finger, a fault of words spewed out in an argument, and a grave mistake which was waiting to be made.

Thanks to him losing his temper and having a terrible day, he took it out on her.

Of course he doesn’t sleep that night. It takes a toll on his body in the afternoon, but luckily a couple of his buddies in the gang help him out. He gets death glares from the guy who he punched in the face, including his gang of enemies too.

He doesn’t even remember why he said those things to her, not even the meaning behind them because he fucked up so badly, he tries to forget about it. But he can’t, because that was the turn of their relationship. No more looking forward to the days where she’ll come to visit him. No more hearing her voice, or seeing her golden hair. No more gazing deeply into her shining green eyes. Nothing. What’s left are the stupid memories which haunt him on a daily basis.

The same old empty feeling in his heart burns, stings, hurts so much he can’t even describe it. Lawrence keeps his mouth shut luckily upon his return. Now that he’s screwed up, let her go like that, he realizes how much he loves her, and can’t stand to see her walk away. Might as well turn his frown into his face, because that’s how he looks for the next day or two. Completely under the weather, sick and tired of his life.

He’s only human. Human enough to handle so much ache and pain, only able to hate so much, only able to love so much. And now that everything in his life has started to work it’s way past the horizon, he’ll never see it rise again, because he’s in hell. In a hell he’ll never be able to escape because he just screwed up in such an unimaginable way. What are the chances of him getting an opportunity to apologize to her? Slim, probably, and though he would love to keep his hand on hope, every bit of light that used to burn closely to him is fading away. It’s out of his grasp, and he just wants to drown, drown in anything.

He dives too deep into his pain, too much to where he results to fights, a lot of them. He’s just lucky that they aren’t charging him any further.

Days and weeks go by slower than usual, and soon it turns into months. To him, he still remembers every detail of their dumb argument, and the more he looks back on it, the more he thinks about how foolish he was to even retaliate at her with words he never actually meant. And he could remember how there was the hurt in her eyes, the pain in her heart, the madness going around in her head, because like usual, she was the open book in his life he could read. But there’s no such thing anymore. He’s tugged on a wrong string, and now she’s gone. 

She hasn’t visited for seven months, and it becomes more evident as each bloody day goes by.

You could say he feels like a psychopath, but that isn’t even close to what would describe him. He’s a lovestruck asshole of a boyfriend who’s learned to ruin a relationship from some stupid words, and he’s unable to get over it, because that’s how much he loves Emma Swan- he pushed her out. There’s nothing in the world he could ever do to hate her, but there is everything he could do to hate himself to the end of the world and back. 

But, there’s the determination in his heart. Though she will not forgive him- because gods above he doesn’t even forgive himself- he’s going to win her over again somehow, no matter what he has to do, he’s willing to do it all over again. He’s willing to love her all over again. He’s willing to win her heart over all over again. He’s willing to fight for the trust he’s lost within five minutes time.

Perhaps it’s the mistake that’s brought it to the attention, but now that he screwed up, it’s obvious about what he has to do.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things slowly get better, this is a longer chapter. My fingers are dying.

She’s made a big mistake with not visiting him. Within seven new months, a lot has happened, even to the standards for Emma. In fact, she’s told David about her relationship with Killian, and apparently he’s pushing her to go visit him again. Protective David once again, and though she hates him acting like his father, or an older brother of hers, he’s told her some things that are the truth, but she’s yet to take it to heart because she’s being her stubborn self again.

“Have you seriously stopped visiting because of some argument you had with him?”

“Yes, David, that’s the reason I stopped visiting! How many times do I need to tell you? I’m fairly positive he doesn’t want to see me.” She’s lying to herself, that’s not a good sign for Emma Swan if she needs to lie to herself. “Can we drop the topic?”

He sighs. “Not really, no. Emma, you can’t just avoid him like this. He’s probably missing you, because from what I’ve heard, you had a pretty good relationship, and just because you guys had some small argument, does not mean you give up on each other.” He’s right, David’s always right in some way. “And it’s been what, seven months since the last time you visited? His life is not really good at the moment, and I’m fairly certain you’re making it worse by not seeing him. If I were him, I’d feel horrible about myself, and I’d miss seeing you.”

_Yes, Emma, he misses you- no, he doesn’t. He probably hates me._

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I’m not going to go see him David,” she enunciates clearly. “I was the one who completely screwed this up, I walked away, I made a stupid choice.”

“And yet you’re not _fixing_ the ‘stupid’ mistake you’ve made! That’s the problem, Emma, you’re not taking the step forward you should be taking. You’re running. If you don’t go, I’m going to get an earful from Mary Margaret tonight, and I’m sure you’ll get one tomorrow morning.” He takes a sip out of his coffee, placing it back down on his desk. “Otherwise, I’ll be giving you a ride _tomorrow_ afternoon, whether you like it or not. You’re going to sort this out with him.”

“Why are you so persistent about it? It doesn’t even concern you, Dave.” She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest, because she’s starting to actually consider his words. “I mean like, you’ve never been so insistent about anything before.”

“It does concern me, Emma. You’ve been miserable since whatever day it was you and him fought. Do you think being in jail is much fun, separated from a loved one? He needed time to cool down, and perhaps he was in a really bad mood the day you went to visit.” He stands up, and does that signature thing with the hands on his hips. “Seeing you grumpy every morning is not splendid. As much as I hate to know this guy you dated is in _jail_ , there was a good reason behind it as you said so, and I refuse to let you run away from problems you should confront,” he explains thoroughly, with that you’re-going-to-fix-this face.

A voice is telling her to go, including David, but then another is telling her just to run. To be alone, that it’s not worth the trouble to fix something that’s been broken for months now. And for some reason, she finds herself defeated to David’s encouragement. “Fine, fine, fine,” she mutters, clearly annoyed by the time she drops down into her chair.

Nothing celebratory, but David immediately calls Mary Margaret, and it’s like she swears she can hear her yelling happy stuff over the phone. Emma ignores it and gets back to work, and by the time she’s done her hours of the job, she’s back at the apartment spoiling herself for a well-deserved bath.

Let’s say she’s not prepared to be seeing Killian after seven months. Seven full months since she walked away, right out of his life like that. She always asked for him to stay, and he did, and this time, she was the one who betrayed some of that trust between them. It’s now going to take a lot of work to repair their relationship, and to be frank, she’s not into this entire break-up then make-up thing, yet David is forcing her, and being the good guy chauffeur. Who is she to deny her own boss? (Honestly, she could claim him as a brother by now, it’s not even funny.)

Nothing pisses her off more than the fact she’s going to be thinking of him constantly, and being nervous, when she’s usually not so nervous. It’s not until the next day, when she’s sitting in David’s car, staring out the window at everything that passes by where she starts thinking, _maybe this is for the best- I need to apologize for storming out over a stupid argument_. It doesn’t take long until she thinks of other reasons to supply herself with so she doesn’t feel that bad- _who am I to apologize? He needs to too. God fucking damn it, Emma._ Her mind is just a rubble of mixed up thoughts, lies, truths, and then everything that can come in between.

The closer they near to the area, the closer they near to the gates, the churning in her stomach decides to pull a stunt, and she groans internally. She is not prepared to see a broken Killian Jones, she’s probably never going to be able to see a broken Killian Jones.

David ushers her inside after they’re let in. “Go fix it. If he’s an asshole again, then I’ll probably punch him in the face for it.” Nice words, Dave.

“Wow, thanks,” she mumbles, stumbling forward and into the seat.

Within a couple of minutes, she hears a ruckus, and there’s no mistake when it comes to Killian’s voice. The familiar deep, accented voice. And the moment their eyes lock in some intense battle, he calms down and takes his seat in front of her. Although there’s this plastic thing dividing them, it doesn’t exactly stop the tension between the two. And tension is the last thing she wants, because whatever is going on between them, she wants it to _stop_ , she just needs to figure out the way to word it.

“I-”

He interrupts her, “You came back.” It’s a dark voice, one she’s not all too familiar with anymore. It’s a voice she _doesn’t_ like, because it scares her. She’s seen her fair share of assholes against the law, but she’s never been prepared to see this glare.

“Yeah, I did. And- and as much as I hate admitting this type of stuff, I’ve been somewhat miserable without you, and after our little fight, I couldn’t find myself seeing you again.” She sighs, shaking her head at how much shame she feels herself. It’s slowly creeping in to haunt her. “And I’m sorry, I am, I never meant to hurt you, and I realized that the further I put myself away from you, the more it affected me, more than I was willing to ever think of. Not until David told me off.”

“You weren’t the only one who felt the guilt, Swan. And I must say, I am surprised that you returned, not that I ever doubted you would.” His voice sounds somewhat lighter than before, and she prefers it over the dark one, there’s just something in that other voice that makes her want to flee the scene and never return. “Who is this David you speak of?” he asks.

Of course. Accidentally bringing in David means explaining to Killian who he is without him thinking she’s moved on.

“Before you get jealous, he’s my boss. Sort of like the brother I never had since he’s really protective over me.”

He laughs. “Never said I was jealous, lass, merely curious of the man you spoke about.”

“I beg to differ. You’re jealous about the fact you can’t even see me in a dress.” She looks down at her hands, which somehow subconsciously started fiddling around. “I don’t exactly expect you to forgive me for walking out on you.”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me after the things I accused you of.”

She shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, that’s one thing we agree on.”

“Emma, do you want to be here? Or, did this David force you to come?” he asks bluntly.

There’s so much she needs to say, so much she owes him. For once, she’s going to avoid the ‘running’ method, and be upfront about it. Trust him, believe in him.

“Both, and because I owe you explanations, I’m giving you them now. Luckily for me, David’s able to stall me as much time as I can since I have a lot to say.” She inhales a big breath before letting it out at a quick release. “At first, to be honest, I did not want to come. I wanted nothing to do with seeing you again, not after our bickering. But once David started getting under my skin about how I was always grumpy, how he would feel if he were you, it… somehow got into me. I don’t know how, because trust me, throughout the entire car ride here, I was nervous. Nervous I was going to screw up, nervous I had ruined our relationship for good, nervous because I was _scared_.

“And seeing you now, it feels like the weight on my shoulders have been lifted off because I know I can trust you, it’s just that I’m used to… this entire thing. Running. Building my walls up high, and never letting anyone in because I knew how it felt to get a broken heart, I knew how it felt to be lost and abandoned. So yes, it was wrong on my part to think avoiding this entire thing would be a good resolution. But now that I’m here, confessing all this stupid nonsense, I… I feel home. Like it’s somewhere within reach, but I’m just still searching for it, running after it until I find it. And David was right, I needed to fix this, fix us.”

“Quite the mouthful of words there, Swan.”

“I know.”

“I understand you.” He leans forward, his forearms resting on the surface. “I shall tell you my side of the story now, as that would be fair.” His tongue peeks out between his lips for the slightest second. “The day you came, I had a unsatisfying start. As you know, I had a fight, and it wasn’t the most… let’s say ‘prettiest’ fistfight. When you came, I ended up releasing all my anger on you, which was, excuse me, a mistake on my part. It wasn’t until you said you would stop visiting had I regained some of my previous senses. But, I was too late and you were out the door before I could form a response, saying that there wasn’t any promises about returning.

“Trust me when I say I was devastated. That night, I still clearly remember that I didn’t get any sleep because I was unbelievably still frustrated with what I said to you. My heart still aches, Swan, and it only waits for you, because foolish me, I still believe that you would still love me after the many months in jail for I have served. So, let me ask you this Emma, do you still love me? Be _honest_.”

She catches her breath in the back of her throat. Does she still love him? Surely, there’s some sort of reasoning if she’s to say no. But the man has given her so much, and she owes him her entire life basically. And it’s been seven months of complete ignorance and frustration pulling her hairs out each night. It’s been seven months of drowning in a bit of tequila, and staring at nothingness. It’s been seven months of inhaling the scent of his clothes that still sit in his closet. It’s been seven months of being pissed off because of him.

Between the innuendos, the snarky remarks, and the unfairly good looks, there was, and is still that beautiful side of him. That side of him that loves, that side of him that gets serious about something that needs proper attention, that side of him that listens attentively and then takes action when it’s promptly required. That’s what makes him Killian Jones.

So yes, you could say she still does care for him, still does have feelings, it would be a grave mistake to ignore any affection, to ignore any of the signals going on in her head. It would be her being a hardhead if she’s going to lie to herself and him. Killian knows that she loves him, but he needs to hear it for assurance, and as for it being a debt to owe him anything, she’d rather admit it herself because she feels it. She knows actions can speak louder, _prove_ more than words, and since they’re separated because _god damn_ prison precautions, she can only stick to talking through a plastic wall between them.

The words are still painfully difficult for her to declare sometimes, even if she wants to say it. And she remembers to just breathe, to take a breath, to remember all the good memories, to finally take a step forward from grieving internally for seven months.

“Yeah, I do. Maybe I’m stupid for still loving you, but I still do because you were the first one to ever be there for me. I won’t ever forget that you gave up almost everything- your _life_ \- to make me happy, you gave me things no one else could.” By then, she starts to lose the amount of words to describe how she feels. “And it’s not pity, because we both know how that never solves anything.” She sighs, scrubbing a hand over her face in frustration, in a loss of words. “I overreacted, and you were having a bad day. We can agree that both of us screwed up, and we both got caught up in the moment.”

The pregnant pause grows longer and longer, and she can tell he’s searching her face, for something, or anything. It wasn’t entirely her fault for the argument, but it is definitely her entire fault on leaving him hanging without any sort of visit for seven straight months of… pure hell, she supposes. And it’s not until _now_ does she feel the pang (really big, mind you) of regret for just hitchhiking her way out of his life because he was having a bad day. God knows if Emma were in his situation, she’d probably have accidentally released her anger on someone else too. It’s not something particularly subtle, cause Emma isn’t the most patient out of most people.

So she can’t blame him, and she can’t blame herself. But what she can blame is that she had to be persuaded to fix an issue that is personal, from her friend. From her boss. And whether she likes it or not, she’s thankful. Gratitude is in order at some point, but at the moment, she just needs to remember the reason for being here. In front of _him_ , because the last thing she wants to do is drift off track and forget everything she’s starting to fight for.

“Then my heart will always be yours, Swan.” He smiles- it’s _genuine_. “On a brighter side of things, I’ve dimmed down on my violence around here.”

She chuckles, unable to keep any laughter in. “Well, good for you buddy. I’m proud your nose isn’t dislocated.”

“Oi, I can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment!”

“Take it or leave it, Jones,” she teases, stretching her arms behind her head. “How’s it been in general? Not just about me, there must be other things that consume your mind.”

“Well, the last couple of months have been all dedicated to you, my love.”

The jitters, and she swears she can feel goosebumps form on her arms, even with the red leather jacket- which is commonly her favourite- covering her skin from the draft of a breeze from the air conditioning system which is horribly broken apparently- which is a total lie because she shudders at the words ‘dedicated,’ and ‘my love.’

Emma naturally tugs her jacket closed, wrapping her arms around herself. “You really have nothing else to be thinking of except me?”

He chuckles lightly. “Can you blame me?”

“Actually, nope. Same goes for me. I’ve had a lot of you on my mind too, mostly was about me trying to convince myself I didn’t make a mistake back then, which was ridiculous. I don’t have a single clue about why I was trying to convince myself with lies.”

“You were running, darling. Running away from the truth and reality, expecting to find something to ease the pain, expecting for yourself to ignore that hole of absence in your heart.”

She sighs, her eyebrows shooting up. “I’m that much of an open book?” Same old, same old. It doesn't even surprise her how accurate his observations are, but she asks for the hell of it- fuel the conversation if you could call it that.

Killian nods. “Aye. Very much, it’s actually quite amusing though to be able to read you so simply. It frightens me sometimes, but many a times I’m happy I can. It allows me to understand you better, allows me to do many things others can’t for you.”

God, how badly she's missed having a simple conversation with him, his presence so dominant in the atmosphere. How badly she's missed knowing how easily he can see right through her without a doubt. "Thanks for being the avid reader in my life then," she quips, a smile ghosting on her face.

"My pleasure, Swan."

"How's your hand doing?" She immediately notes his face turns into a grimace. "If you're willing to talk about it."

He sighs as his shoulders jump up, and back down. "I've been better. Still hurts sometimes, but the pain subsides eventually as it' nothing I can't handle," he describes, glancing down at his cuffed hands. "How's being a bail bondsperson, love?"

"Tiring. Though sometimes I get to punch a guy in the face, so that makes up for it I guess."

"What a pleasant view in my head," he mumbles jokingly. "Remind me to never argue with you again.

"I think that’s a responsibility you should keep track of," she responds.

He pouts (like a fucking baby), "So you'd like to punch me in the face?"

Emma narrows her eyes at him, having the urge to teach him a lesson. "Not yet. Better not make an example out of yourself, otherwise I will at some point." Emma then realizes how easily they're falling back into their old comebacks and jokes.

"Hey." David pops in. "I can't hold them off much longer. Better make whatever else you gotta say quick."

"Ah, so is this David?" Killian asks, his head tilting to the side. _What the fuck, he looks like a dog or something- puppy._  


"Yes, I am. Emma mentioned me, huh?"

He nods curtly, flashing a short smile. "Briefly, yes. But I suppose its time to bid farewell, so until next time, Swan." He winks at her- _winks_ at her. She can't avoid that weird feeling inside. "Have a good day, mate," he says toward David. "Take care of her for me, will you?"

"I can take care of myself!" she exclaims.

Killian laughs, and she needs to hear his laughter more often. In some cases, it really makes her happier, lifting off any tension, any bad thoughts. "Oh, I don't doubt that love, you're more than capable... but it's taking precautions." He leans forward, his face only an inch away because of the divider. "Just so you know, I still love you, and I forgive you for your reaction."

Who could blame forgiveness? They both have such a bipolar relationship at some points, it’s expected that they don’t hate each other the next day. Seven months was long enough of a separation, and now that the problem’s fixed, she’s going to enjoy living a bit again. "Mhm, good. Same to you." She stands up and walks toward David, but turns back to steal a glance at him. "See you, Jones."

“Farewell, love. Was nice meeting you, David. And thank you for giving Swan the push, I don’t know how long I could have lasted as a sane man if I hadn’t seen her any sooner.”

David gives Killian an appreciative nod. “She cares, even if she doesn’t admit it. Good luck with the rest of your days, _mate_.”

By the time she gets into the car, Emma releases a big breath, relieved of how it went. David and her talk, nothing in particular, nothing forced, even though a lot of it has implied meaning behind them. She doesn’t lose her temper on him though, because it’s thanks to him which she fixed up her relationship with Killian. Though during the ride back, she wonders how she’s going to get back into a schedule of visiting him. She’s going to have to set aside time again, because the drive there is actually quite long, especially through stubborn New York traffic.

While stuck in her thoughts, it’s not until the car comes to an abrupt stop, not in front of the station. She glances out the window to see him parked in front of her apartment, and she’s confused. What is David doing? That is a question she should actually verbalize and ask.

“David, what- the station?”

“Go rest. After seven months, you’ve chased down like twenty perps, worked overtime, and had Killian stuck on your mind. Consider this a treat,” he says, pointing out the window. “Take a week off. Do whatever you want, oh, and uh, Mary Margaret wants to have dinner since it’s Thanksgiving on Wednesday. Want to join us?”

Thanksgiving. She’s always spent her Thanksgiving doing nothing but watching TV, or being in bed doing nothing in particular.

“Don’t tell me our conversations will be circling around Killian.”

David chuckles, shaking his head. “Not unless you want them to be. Can’t promise anything on Mary Margaret’s behalf though, you know how much she cares for you as a friend- oh, even as a sister.” He sighs. “Oh damn, she’s probably going to bug me once I get home tonight, or she’ll end up texting you non-stop until you give her a satisfactory answer.”

“Good luck with that then. Thanks for the break, David. I suppose I’ll be sleeping for the next twenty-four hours, so please do not bother me.”

David laughs. “Well, call me if you want to join us for dinner.”

“I will.”

/-/-/-/-/-/

Wednesday comes by quickly, and Emma does attend for two reasons. One, she needs a distraction because spending it alone, without Killian for the third time? Not ideal. Two, who can pass out on a good dinner with two of your best friends? Hard concept to grasp still. She used to be that really lost little girl, especially after Killian had to leave, but now she has a couple of new friends here and there. Then again, only three people know of her rather... disturbing past, excluding Killian. She's just lucky enough that they don't bring it up unless she's willing to go along with the conversation.

The moment that front door swings open, David pulls her inside to go help Mar Margaret prepare some last minute stuff.  The conversation after their greeting steers toward the red zone though, but she doesn't feel bad about talking about it. She doesn't feel as much regret and guilt, new that they apologized, so maybe discussing it can be healthy for her. Then again, David and Mary Margaret is like the epitome of true love. We.

"So, how'd it go?" Mary Margaret asks, placing the dishes on the table. "Did you guys make-up?"

Emma places the plates and utensils down. "Yes, for a matter of fact, we did," she responds.

All of a sudden, there's a ring at the door, and Emma assumes its just probably family members. Thanksgiving is supposed to be about being grateful and thankful for those in your life. Another reason why Thanksgiving is not her favourite holiday, definitely not a person to spend that sort of devoted time to. Once again, she's lucky she's friends with two lovestruck birds who are willing to invite her over anyways.

It doesn't dawn any importance on her until David calls for her. "Emma! There's somebody I'd like you to meet!"

So, she she shuffles her feet around the dining table, and through the archway until she meets someone who she is not remotely prepared to see. And so much confusion is in her mind, because there's too idiots smiling in front of her, and for one she wants to punch David, but also hug him at the same time. The other is just her wanting to slap the smug grin off his face- or kiss it. No, that would make him grin even more. She doesn't want him to be grinning any further, because this itself is already driving her mad.

"Swan."

She takes in a shaky breath, because he looks at fresh and handsome as ever, and she is totally not trying to keep her cool. "Jones, not that I'm not glad to see you, but how are you here?"

"You look lovely tonight, lass," he compliments. "To answer your question, that is not much of my story to tell, but your good friend, David's."

"I managed to get him out for tonight. Perks of being the Captain of the NYPD. Anyways, I only got him patched through after you had agreed to join us for dinner. I barely know him, but I know he means a lot to you, and so here he is," he explains. "It's just one night though, and I can't guarantee it can happen again, but I wanted you to be happy, and I ran this through with Mary Margaret first too- she thought it was a brilliant idea and yeah... So, enjoy the company while he lasts, okay?"

"Uhm, yeah thanks, David. I really don't know how to repay the favour. Getting Killian here... God, early Christmas present," she stutters through half her words nervously, too breathless to say anything else.

He pats her back and whispers, "Keep up your good work performance when you return from break, and that'll be enough of a payment." He leaves Killian and her alone, and she can hear the giggling from Mary Margaret in the kitchen.

Killian tugs at her yarn sweaters sleeve, crashing his lips on hers before she can even react. Slowly, she melts into the kiss, his hands tightening around her waist, her hand feeling up the familiar black leather jacket. They slowly fall apart, keeping their foreheads pressed together, his nose brushing against hers with the gentlest touch ever. Her nerves are responding crazily, like her heart just went wild, and her brain still trying to register the fact he's _here_.

"That is something I should have done if David had left earlier," he comments. "Miss me?"

"Maybe." She's too lost at sea to find the words to say things she should be saying.

His fingers dance on her waist. "Unfortunate. I could leave," he drawls out, teasing her with every word.

"Jones," she warns, "I'm not missing out on a night with you, so get your hands off of me for now and let's go eat dinner like mature people, shall we?"

"Demanding," he mutters, "I like it."

She groans in response, pulling back from him. Motioning for him to follow after her into the dining room where everything is now set up. Everyone exchanges glances,Killian greets Mary Margaret, and it becomes a fact that the night is not going to go by without the utterance of Killian. So, they explain their story, and when she gets uncomfortable, Killian squeezes her hand gently under the table, a foreign feeling flowing through her veins. They never really held hands often, and the simple contact settles her nerves.

David positively threatens Killian, and all she can notice is that dumb smirk on his face. While Killian insists on being the one to wash the dishes- gentleman alert- David gets an emergency call from the station, so it leaves Emma and Mary Margaret chilling on the couch. And since it's basically a moment of their own privacy, a rush of questions come her way, thanks to Emma's extremely curious friend.

"So he was seriously an assassin?"

"Yeah, and he nearly killed me the day we met," Emma adds on, stretching her feet under the coffee table. "God, now that I look back on it, I was a total fool."

"You bargained with someone who could've killed you," Mary Margaret mumbles. “And you were a thief, too.”

“She was rather the most notorious thief of them all. And I didn't kill her, I spared her life," Killian interjects, his arms crossed across his chest as he watches the two of them. "If you're going to be gossiping, I'd recommend it being out of the victims range to hear it," he suggests.

"Boo hoo, it's barely gossip, Killian. It's just the truth." She yawns, rubbing her eyes. "I think we should get going. Thanks for the invitation and food, and thanks for getting Killian here," Emma says, getting herself off the couch.

"Any time, Emma!" Mary Margaret exclaims. "And it was nice meeting you, Killian."

"It's been the utmost pleasure, milady." He wraps his arms around Emma's waist, peeking over her shoulder. "Thank you very much for your contribution for my temporary release. It's been an honour to have such a wonderful Thanksgiving with Emma's friends."

They exchange their farewells, and as they leave, a question pops up into her mind. "When- uh, specifically do you have to go back?" Painful question, incredibly painful that she’s sure her voice quavers, because her heart certainly skips a beat when she asks.

"By tomorrow morning. I have the night with you, and I intend to hold onto it for as long as I can, love."

She sighs in disappointment, pulling the car door open. Both of them are sitting in silence, and before she decides to start the car, he takes her hand in his quickly- which suddenly makes her feel some sort of warmth- squeezing it gently. Emma takes a quick glance over at him, but his eyes are trained in front of the car, his jaw doing that flexing thing she’s become quite accustomed to.

In all of her times, she knows not to pry for information. He doesn’t seem quite interested in sharing anything, and she figures it’s probably not the brightest idea of all to do so in such an environment- car. Maybe it’d be better to go back to the apartment and discuss there.

Reluctantly, he lets her hand go so she can get them back to the apartment. Silent car rides suck, but the thing she can stand is that it’s not much of floating tension as there was three days ago when she went to visit him in jail. In three days, she spent her time resting, though her wild mind wouldn’t let her get as much rest as she planned to get. In three days, she broke her movie marathon record because she couldn’t sleep. In three days, she didn’t manage to even get to bed before she passed out in front of the flickering television screen. In three days, she barely looked prepared to go to a Thanksgiving dinner. In three days, she was not prepared to see a Killian Jones standing in front of her.

And within those three days, she’s about to lose it all again in a couple of hours. Fantastic timing.

They both walk hand in hand when they go up the stairs. They both walk hand in hand when they saunter down the hallway, though it seems more like they’re trudging. (Let’s be honest, they’re stuffed from food.) They both walk hand in hand into the apartment.

But, when that door shuts, everything breaks into hell. He’s pushing her up against the wall with so much force, it hurts, but she doesn’t even realize the pain because she wants it too. He’s kissing her with, and it’s fervid, it’s making her body glow, it’s making her blood burn and gush, it’s making her head spin. She gladly returns the favour, however there are more important things to do before engaging in any sexual activities- for fucks sake, honestly, she’s trying to avoid having sex because she’s going to be thinking about it the moment he leaves. She’s avoiding. Running, hiding behind those thick walls she’s built within two years of lost and invisible grief.

“Killian.” It comes out more as a moan than a prayer for him to stop, but it becomes apparent, and he pulls back slightly, a _little_ , still keeping their distance together. She’s breathing heavily, but it feels like her throat is dry, out of words, unable to say what she needs to say. Unable to explain, to discuss what they need to discuss. Unable to elaborate on why she’s asked him to stop his irresistible call to bed. “Can we talk first?” she whispers softly, her fingers accidentally digging into the back of his neck. “I want to spend at least one night together, as much as you do, but… words first.”

“Of course, love. Sounds absolutely reasonable, I suppose we both need to exchange some words tonight,” he answers modestly, pulling her back. Though she could sense the smallest twinge of disappointment showing through, she mentally promises him that they’ll get to the better activities later. “Bed or couch?”

“Couch, I guess. It holds all of our important talks,” she utters, she beams a smile at him, and it’s a real one this time around. She catches his blue eyes before they turn to go take their seat on the couch, and she sighs.

“Sentimental now, are we?”

“I am not sentimental,” she shoots back. It’s true. At least it’s usually true.

He laughs softly and responds, “Whatever you say.”

And they talk. The small things, and the big things. The memories, and the nightmares. Through the good, and the bad, and that’s exactly the kind of risk she’s willing to take. Not the safety of being caught every time she falls, because every time she does fall, she wants to learn from it- get back up, try again. Know what mistakes she's made so she doesn’t do it again. Just because someone is there for her, doesn’t mean she wants to do everything with them, sometimes the will of being an individual and doing it separately from others is a preference she leans toward.

Nothing really describes how she feels, because at one moment, she expects herself to no longer hold back from breaking into a wreck of tears, and the next she wants to just laugh carelessly and smile because she’s happy. But, being in his arms isn’t going to last like forever, because he’ll be gone tomorrow morning, without a second word of persuasion left to make him stay- an impossible situation, really.

And as she’s promised herself, they do have a night full of passion, and she’d like to regret it, oh so much, because her mind will be on it constantly. But, it’s to relieve the stress, to show each other how much they still do care, even through the heavy distance and long time. It’s just devotion and dedication. (She can’t stop remembering how gentle he was, but then he was rough, treating her no less than a woman she is, only on equal level. She likes it that way. She doesn’t need a man to be tender with her, because she can totally handle it without any problem.)

His arms tightly, _possessively_ wrapped around her, she’s conscious of every detail and bit of movement. She knows he’s not asleep, because he’s too busy processing everything thats going on, and she’s too busy staring at nothing, only noting the warm arms and familiar, yet distant feeling of _home_. It’s been awhile since she’s been truly, genuinely happy- though she knows that this happiness is temporary, and that it will only hurt her more in the long run while he’s gone back behind bars. She wants more time, _slow down_ time if you will.


	16. Chapter 16

He feels her body rise and slowly sink down, he knows she’s finally asleep after several minutes of laying there restless. It suddenly strikes him how he’s going to leave her again, and it’s not a fun though. He sighs softly, mindful of keeping his voice and actions quiet. The last thing he does is want to ruin her sleep, especially because he had noticed earlier how tired she seemed, how worn out and exhausted from work and _his_ absence, and he can feel that bit of guilt chewing him inside out.

Nothing feels worse than being the cause of trouble. Now he understands, he feels, he comprehends very thoroughly how much she had probably hated him when he told her seven months ago how she was the source of all his personal issues. _Gods, I was a bloody moron_ , he tells himself. His brain is just a mess, a complete and utter ridiculous mess of thoughts and feelings. It’s not good for him, because by tomorrow morning, he’s going to be a jagged piece of metal that will melt the moment he says goodbye in his fatigue.

But just in this darkness, holding her against him for one more night, he feels it’ll be easier to confess things. Even if she doesn’t hear the words, he’ll say them anyways. “I love you so bloody much, it hurts sometimes to think I have you,” he whispers. “Sometimes I regret becoming a servant to Gold, but then I would have never met you. Let alone maybe catch a glimpse of your always stunning beauty.” He breathes in her scent, something of lavender he reckons. “You make me want to have a future, a real one, one that I probably would never deserve, not after the lives I’ve ended, not after the many friends and families I’ve affected, not after all the pain and guilt that was never supposed to haunt me. You make me want so many things, you make me question so many things, and I’ve never felt so conflicted over a woman before, not even Milah.

“You make me wonder if I’ll ever gather my gumption to do that thing where I get on one knee, and you say ‘yes.’ You make me wonder if I could be a father to my own children. You make me wonder if I can just simply spend the rest of my life loving you and whoever else that comes to be apart of this family. You make me wonder how thankful I should be, because you leave me wondering on so many things, it’s a lot for me to swallow at once, darling.

“It’s awfully painful to know how much I could break down and scream if I’d have lost you. It reminds me how much you mean to me, how much my entire world is you, how much I’ve tried so hard to become a better man. It’s not a better man for you, Swan, it’s a better man for me too. You make me want to change myself for everyone, not make myself change only for you. You make me want to do so many things I should have done years prior, but never had the bloody damn courage to. I wish you knew how much you mean, that whatever I do, it’s always because you play the largest role of it all. You are my vulnerability, but you are my strength.

“How will I ever gain your trust back after we messed up? That is what we can figure out in due time, together, maybe. But I don’t expect you to magically believe you can trust me again. I don’t expect anything from you at all, love. Just be yourself. Be my Emma Swan, that’s all I’ll ever want and need.”

It’s not goodbye, but it is a message. It is something he wants to tell her every night, it’s something he wants to remind her of, regardless of the situation they’re in.

His eyes slide closed as he takes in a big breath, inhaling her scent along with it. It’s painful to say so many of these words, even if it’s the truth. Because the truth can hurt, no matter how much of a lie it may seem, the truth can always bring pain instead of joy. He knows that.

Just how will he fix his relationship? That’s a question to think about for another night. He just keeps her close for now, making sure he can relish every single second he has with her now before he slips away from her grasp once again to a monthly visit. 

Apparently, she stirs in her sleep, and his eyes jolt open to see her facing him.

And then it all dawns on him like a tsunami. “You heard all of that, didn’t you?”

“I heard enough of it.”

He doesn’t know what he feels. Embarrassment? Regret? Shame? All three can be the answer, but only one rises above them all. Embarrassment. He doesn’t regret saying any of those words, he doesn’t feel shame for admitting his longing feelings for this woman in his arms, but what he does feel is that he just admitted everything to her open ears as he believed she was sleeping all along.

Gullible.

“I’m sorry that you had to hear it now,” he whispers softly, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “I had hoped we could speak of these things later, when we’re stable- while I’m not under the trouble of the law, and you’re not heartbroken because I depart tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t be sorry about something you couldn’t keep in. It was the truth, and I admire that you said it, even if you thought I was asleep,” she says, her voice dropping slightly. “You’re not the only one questioning their life, you know? I do it too. All the time, thanks to you.”

He sighs. “As they say, we’re only human,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’re not perfect at all. But together, we’re like two puzzle pieces fit, side by side.”

“That’s why I just want my Killian Jones.”

“I’ve been yours since forever, love.”

/-/-/-/-/-/

Mornings were always slow, but it’s slower than ever when he wakes up. It’s another goodbye. Just how many goodbyes are they going to have before they end up together? Bloody hell, it’s going to be a hell of a lot goodbyes that he’s not willing to go through.

Perhaps it’s the sun that gets him up, but his eyes just flash open to see the blinding lights- damn curtains were not shut- and a white ceiling. He takes his glance over at Emma, though there’s a face of pain and sadness etched onto her. Gods, he would do anything to be with her, but his sentence isn’t over yet. This years almost over, but a following seven will remain.

His grip tightens on her ever so slightly, and he feels bad because she slowly pops an eye open to look at him. He smiles sadly, his eyes sliding closed from the overwhelming rush of emotions. “Good morning, love,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright,” she mutters and yawns. “What time?”

Killian glances over at the red numbers, noting it’s not that early. “Ten thirty, give or take a couple of minutes.” He sighs, sliding his hand up her body until it reaches her cheeks. God, he needs to just touch her for one last time before he leaves. “I leave soon.”

“I know.”

“I can’t keep doing this,” he whispers, the emotions flooding back once again.

She rests her hand on his chest. “Doing what?”

He pulls her closer to his chest, treating her like the most precious thing in the world, because damn, she is the most precious thing, _person_ in his life. “Leaving. Saying goodbye. We’ve done this several times, love, and every time it only gets worse,” he confesses.

She nods with a response, “I know.” He barely catches that.

“Do you have work today?”

Emma glances up at him. “No, David gave me a break this week. Why?”

“I was going to ask for you to drop me by the station so Dave could drive me back.”

“Oh.”

“I’d ask you to, but you’re still a little exhausted, because let’s face it, love, I know how to tire a woman out, even when she’s the one on her back.” He shoots her a confident smirk and wink, noticing her signature rolling of eyes. “I don’t mean to bother you, Swan, but if you could call Dave about it, and he can pick me up here?”

“Sure, I guess,” she murmurs. “Let me grab my phone, and we can get that arranged.”

And so they both reluctantly get out of bed and get dressed. He does not admire her behind as he slips his jeans on- okay, maybe a little bit. He’s not going to enjoy being back in prisoner clothes. He lays on the couch, staring up at the ceiling while he waits for David to arrive. Meanwhile, he smells the brewing coffee scent floating around the open apartment as Emma dawdles in with two mugs. He sits up and thanks her for the caffeine, both drinking in silence. The moment there's a knock at the door, he sighs and goes into the kitchen to drop the mug off. He shrugs off his leather jacket and hands it to Emma after she talks a bit with David.

She has a confused look, staring at his signature leather jacket with her eyebrows creased together. "Why are you giving me this?" she asks, stroking the black jacket, gazing up into his eyes.

He smiles sheepishly, scratching behind his ear. "Think of it as an early present, love," he responds, tucking a strand of her loose hair behind her ear. "I'd like you to remember me by something. And, when you're ready, I'd like you to check the right pocket of the jacket."

"What did you put in there? And when does ‘when I’m ready’ apply?”

He presses one last kiss her soft lips with a smile. "That's for you to find out, darling."

And with that, he's out the door with David with that large metal clang that drops down on his heart when David closes the apartment door behind him. To think saying goodbye more than a couple of times would make it easier the next time around, but apparently not. It hurts just as much as he strides down the hallway and into the elevator he's barely used before. Nothing is easy, and the feeling of David's heavy gaze on the back of his head as he walks out of the elevator makes him what to turn back and go back into holding Emma in his arms. There's so much pressure, like the entire weight of the world is on his shoulders, and he can't get rid of it until he gains his freedom back again.

Most of the car ride is silent, but they get stuck in traffic, and Killian groans as he stares out the window at the large skyscrapers and bystanders waiting to cross the roads.

"You know if you ever hurt her again, fair warning I might punch you in the face," David says, breaking the prominent silence. "Because if you haven't noticed, she cares a lot more about you thank you think. For seven months, I had to put up with her attitude because of what happened between you two," he continues, and Killian notices his grip on the wheel tighten. "But then last night, she was the happiest and most carefree she's been in ages, and I always think why it had into be you- no offence."

He notices the use of 'had' instead. "None taken," Killian mutters, glancing down at his lap. 

"What I'm saying is that I notice the way you two look at each other. It's like how Mary Margaret and I look at each other, and I hate to admit it, but you make her the happiest, and if you ever hurt her again, I won't hesitate on hurting you for it." David laughs. "But then again, I just want the best for her."

"I'm taken away that you haven't proposed to to the fair lady yet." Killian let's loose and chuckles, running a hand through his hair. "I love her, Dave. I'd go to the end of the world for her. Or time."

"I'm waiting for the right moment," David mutters under his breath. "But, good." He takes a right turn. "To your luck, I'm out of threats now."

"Surprising, because I have quite a few things to say, however it's at my best interest to not threaten you as I value my life."

"You better," David retorts.

Finally, they’re back on track through the heavy traffic jam, and they're free flowing down the streets a little bit better. When they get to the jail, Killian dreads glancing up and getting out of the car, but he does anyways and sighs miserably. David escorts him inside, and before he hands him off to the other guards, he whispers, "Just so you know, I've been working on shortening your sentence. If anything comes up, I'll drop by to tell you."

Killian's eyes widen at the news, but he nods. "Thank you, Dave. Really." Now it’s just going to get harder to deal with seeing her each month.

David smiles. "Thank me once you're out. Oh, and do not mention this to Emma.”

/-/-/-/-/-/

Emma stands idly, speechless and confused.

_"That's for you to find out, darling."_

She sighs as irritation takes over her. She holds tightly onto the jacket, walking back into his old bedroom. As expected, everything from last night returns to her. ( _“No, leave your prosthetic on. I don’t care about what you think of your hand, I love you as who you are, prosthetic or not.” She smiles and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Emma,” he breathes out against the crook of her neck._ ) It’s the first time in nearly three years since she had sex with him (or anyone at all), and damn, his abilities have not dropped even during jail time. How is this man possible? 

And during their entire time, she recalls all the small comments he makes, all the crude innuendos and sweet compliments. ( _“What do you want, Swan?” he asks, his voice gruff and damn- it really fits him. “I want you,” she mutters, her eyes squeezing shut at the wave of pleasure flowing through her as she feels his fingers pump in and out of her. “What’s that, darling?” This man will kill her. “You.” And at that moment, she loses all her senses_.) She hangs the leather jacket in the closet, and hesitates on backing away because of the surprise in the pocket. She’s not ready yet. ( _“Look at me, love,” he demands, though it sounds more like a plea because they’re both attempting to catch their breaths. She slowly opens her eyes, seeing a steady, blue gaze come in contact with her. “You won’t forget this, Emma.”_ ) Yes, she’s not going to forget any of it.

It’s like the thing he’s left for her is mocking her. She quickly goes into her own room, plopping down on the bed and huffing out a breath of frustration. “Damn him,” she mutters, grabbing her extra pillow and slapping it down on her face. Emma slips her hand under the pillow she lays on, and her hand comes in contact with a small slip of paper. Quickly, she tightens her grip and pulls it out, sitting up swiftly to only have the pillow on her face fly off. Without any mistakes, it’s Killian’s handwriting. The looped words, looking like a mix of cursive and print.

_Hello, love,_

_By the time you see this, I’ll be gone, not that you need a friendly reminder. Last night was phenomenal, and I don’t mean only the bedding you part. I meant all of it. Spending time with your friends, even though David was attacking me all the way to Mary Margaret and you gossiping, I cherished every second I had with you and your caring friends. Thank you for making my Thanksgiving one I’m actually thankful for. You should know who I’m thankful for._

_You have bewitched me, body and soul, I love, I love, I love you. - Jane Austen_

_I am no literature expert, but I do believe that serves it’s purpose well. (While being confined in limited space, I have picked up reading as a leisure activity.) While I may be gone, do not forget about your own happiness, do not forget that David and Mary Margaret are there for you, and do not forget that my heart will forever be yours. You are a tough lass, Swan, do not ever forget who you truly are. I hope to see you soon. I promise I’ll keep out from fights; I’ll be good. ;)_

_Yours Truly,  
Killian Jones_

_PS. You might be wondering when I wrote this, well, I did it while you took your shower. I didn’t want to bother you about it, so I reckoned writing a simple note would be enough. (Though I don’t believe this note turned out to be short at length.)_

Stupid idiot. _Her_ stupid idiot. The entire time she reads that, she ends up having to start over again because all her emotions are on the edge of the cliff, just about to drop down with a loud thump. At least he was candid with his writing. Emma releases a shaky breath, staring at the piece of paper. She slides it over to her bedside table. She’ll read it again later. Multiple times. After she sleeps.

Except she wakes up to some pounding headache, which makes no possible sense. She dismisses it and calls David to ask if he can drop by the pharmacy to get her some Advil or something. By the time he arrives, which it’s already seven in the evening, he asks if she’s alright. Of course, Emma Swan tells him she’s fine, and that it’ll probably pass by the next day- understatement, she _insists_ she’s perfectly alright, and it’s probably the lack of sleep that’s finally catching up to her. David continues to ensure she’s alright, and damn, the headaches passing now, but she doesn’t want to push him away in an effort to seem like a rude person, so she goes along with him anyways.

And if the goodbye from Killian wasn’t enough, the next day she realizes she’s coming down with a cold. _God damn it, why can’t I just have a good week for once?_ she asks herself, pulling the covers up and over her shoulders, tucking herself deep beneath the remaining scent of Killian from his visit. Her hand blindly taps around the table, searching for her phone. When she finally feels it, she squints her eyes and scrolls through the contacts to call David.

“David? I’m sick,” she mutters into the phone, struggling to keep her grip on the phone tight enough.

She can literally hear him sigh in disappointment, but also hear the panic on his end of the phone. “Do you need me to drop by? Wait! I’ll send Mary Margaret over, and I’ll drop by later tonight after my shift ends,” he suggests, hearing the ruffling of papers on his side. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to return to work now,” Emma mumbles, pushing back a sneeze that’s tickling her nose.

“Don’t worry about it. Mary Margaret will be there soon, and you’ll be better in no time.”

“Thanks, David,” she says.

“No problem, Emma. I’ll see you later.”

She stumbles out of bed to unlock the apartment door, but then she quickly throws herself back under the warmth of the bed and sighs. Her eyes quickly droop, falling into a slumber. But, even the smallest sounds make her stir, and she wakes up to Mary Margaret sneaking through the hallway and into her room with a mug of tea and a bright smile.

With that, she promptly thanks her for doing this, and apologizes if she’s much trouble. But, being the always optimistic friend she is, she insists it’s nothing, and that she’ll be better soon. She’s a twenty-seven year old woman who can definitely take care of herself, but apparently this sickness is not going to let her take responsibility of her own body. Unknown to the reasons of how she got sick in the first place, the thinking is too much for her to handle, so she just drinks the tea while Mary Margaret tells her some obnoxious David stories. Every time she wants to laugh, it sounds like a raspy cough, and she sighs hopelessly.

At first, there was a thing called breathing. Now? She can’t exactly breathe. Her nose is stuffed, her throat is the epitome of a desert without rain, and she feels like a burning fire. After David arrives and checks up on them, Emma convinces the both of them to go home. “I can take care of myself,” she murmurs, waving them away. They give her one last glance before David nods hesitantly, taking his long-time girlfriend away. And when that front door closes and locks, she hasn’t felt so much more relieved in ages.

Giving David a spare key was a good idea.

After several hours of sleep, she finally starts to feel a little bit better. Everything is still a little bit difficult to look at, especially light. Her breathing issue has yet to be solved, and her coughing has slowed down between intervals. It’s better than no progress at least. While she’s home sick, she wishes she to be free out in the open, chasing down a perp. It’s more exhilarating than laying in bed all alone- damn, alone- waiting for the illness to pass. Every couple of minutes, her phone vibrates from a new text message, which frequents from Ruby.

Slowly, she taps away her responses, barely able to keep her mind focused long enough before she just wants to fall asleep, though her body doesn’t exactly let her. Emma’s eyes may be drifting heavily, but her body is clearly up and awake, though a little bit sore still. Nighttime activities with Killian really gave her an ache between her legs.

_**So you’re sick?** _

_Well isn’t that the obvious_

_**Hey I’m just trying to confirm what I’ve heard!** _

_David told you?_

_**yep! well, he said something about you being sick while he was grabbing his to-go order this morning.** _

_I can assure you I am alive, but slowly dying from this cold probably. it’s too early to tell._

Before Ruby can respond, she quickly sends another text. She’s not exactly in the best mood, and this contact with technology is also going to slow down the process of her getting better.

_Talk later. I need sleep... somehow. goodbye_

_**lol, get better Emma!** _

_Thanks_

She drops her phone back down on the side-table and groans. This is a change because she hardly ever gets sick. Nothing can even be recalled on what caused her cold, but she reckons it’s probably the fact that she still leaves the window open sometimes at night- dumb move. At least that’s on the list, so now she chooses to make sure the damn window is closed before she falls asleep.

As time slips through her hands slowly thanks to her intense cold, after about a week she gets back to her original state. This takes her back to dealing with bail skippers, which she is mildly prepared for considered she practically got two entire weeks of a break, even if half of it was being stuck in bed, attempting to get the rest she needs. Now, it’s early December, and everything Christmas related is being put up again. For her, Christmas is not a fond celebration. She’s only celebrated it once at David and Mary Margaret’s house, but other than that, she dislikes the rest of the entire holiday. It’s called Netflix and hot chocolate in front of the TV, a brilliant plan to keep her occupied and before she knows it, the entire Christmas holidays hype is over.

For the second year in a row, David invites her over, and of course, her first inclination is to decline the offer. Except, when it comes to Mary Margaret and Ruby, they are insistent and continue to bug her until she concedes defeat. It’s really not even funny to her anymore. Ruby bugs her at the diner and over the phone, Mary Margaret greets her every morning before she gets into the station, and also gets David to be her voice when she’s not there. 

Long story short, she humbly accepts it anyways.

But this means she won’t be able to unwind (oh, there’s no backing out of this now), because the next two weeks will be full of Christmas preparations galore. She’s not exactly willing to go through all of this, but she’s practically stuck in between everything. She’s screwed. Really badly.

Week one consists of endless shopping with Mary Margaret and Ruby. She feels like the guardian of it all, standing there behind them as they freak out over the simplest things. Then, when it comes to food shopping, all hell breaks loose. Emma doesn’t even remember _why_ she agreed to this in the first place anymore, it’s just that she’s enduring this extremely painful journey through preparations for a stupid holiday for those who want to be jolly with their family. And then, after tiring hours of moving around on her feet, she goes home and dies quietly on the bed.

Then, the leather jacket is promptly _mocking_ and _taunting_ her in all the ways possible. Even with the dumb closet shut, it’s like she sees right through it. She doesn’t know whether to open it yet or not, but she knows one thing, and it’s to _not_ open it when she’s half asleep with throbbing feet and endless repeats of squealing Ruby and excited Mary Margaret in her head.

And as if there’s no time for rest, there’s loud banging on her door. Inwardly groaning and cursing under her breath, she shuffles down the hallway to the door. When she swings it open, it’s David who looks just as tired as she is. “What’re you doing here?” she questions, leaning against the doorframe. “I sort of need some sleep after your girlfriend and Ruby dragged me all around today.”

“Cut her some slack, you know how festive she likes to be,” he responds, his face showing amusement. “And you’re not the only one who’s tired, I’m the one who lives with her.” He laughs. “As a sort of compensation, I’m warning you ahead of time to buy some presents, small ones at least. She’s going crazy this year, and I don’t even know what’s caused her to be so… enthusiastic about it this time. I’d suggest you something, but then again my taste is different than yours,” he continues. “Just don’t spend so much money. It’s not that worth it.”

“Is that it?”

“Yeah. I’ll bet you’re eager to return to the comfort of the bed,” he predicts, checking his phone for a message that lights up on the screen.”

She cocks her side to the side, gently hitting the edge of the doorframe. “Very eager, thank you very much.”

David nods. “Well, I’ll let you get to it. See you next week.”

“Good luck with _her_ ,” she mutters, closing the door and locking it.

She does return back to bed, slipping into the dark before her body can deny her any further. It’s just that she’s _not_ prepared to be spending more time with the girls on actually decorating and setting shit up. Like, this, _this_ is not Emma Swan’s holiday. Not her forte, and definitely not something she’s totally up to, but she doesn’t want to disappoint her best friends, so she blindly follows them.

It doesn’t go unnoticed about how she’s not much interested in this entire thing, but they don’t seem to question it, which she’s absurdly thankful for.


	17. Chapter 17

It’s much to her dismay as it is a conquest of her survival to live through the Christmas hype. While Mary Margaret has been endlessly texting and calling her, it starts to piss her off more than she probably should be. Shortly later, she snaps at her, making Mary Margaret apologize tenfold of the amount she’s expecting, and she obviously forgives her. Emma can’t really be mad at her for being into the entire holiday, it’s not Mary Margaret’s fault. It’s not David’s fault. It’s not Ruby’s fault. It’s _hers_.

And when she shows up at their door the day of Christmas Eve with two presents; one of a book which Mary Margaret has been babbling on about reading, which is odd because she doesn’t read often, and two, a new jacket for David because he’s been the most considerate for her for awhile, so it’s time for her to repay the favour.

While she is being guided to the living room, David excuses himself to go call Ruby and see when she’s dropping by. Weirdly enough, Ruby walks in the front door with all her jolly behaviour the second he starts to dial her number. They all laugh, and then the next moment, they’re all sitting on the couch casually.

Her heart clenches at the sight of the beautifully decorated Christmas tree in the corner, and the lights illuminating the dimly lit room. She’s mildly distracted as she thinks of something stupid, and then someone else greets them, the familiar lilt of a British accent. Robin.

Should she be surprised about him actually joining them while the bar should be busy? Hell yes, but she’s still a little bit out of her element from sleep, and it’s maybe because there’s loud chatter and gossip between Mary Margaret and Ruby about this guy Ruby likes- Victor Whale if she caught his name earlier in between the earful of hundreds of other exchanged words. Seemingly disinterested in the gossip about boyfriends, and the discussion of marriage (because let’s face it, Mary Margaret and David is the biggest couple with true love out there), she excuses herself to go the bathroom in an effort to avoid any and all memories of Killian and her being together well and off to the future.

She should be happy, she should be glad she’s around with friends who care with her, she should be glad she’s not spending her day jammed in front of a sofa with a mug and a TV broadcasting whatever she sees fit, but she’s not. Robin being there only makes it worst, because _he’s_ his friend, and whenever she catches a glance at Robin chatting with David about something ‘manly,’ she remembers the first meeting she had with Killian.

Her head hangs over the sinks, her hands bracing each side of the counter. It’s an unmistakable pang of unenthusiastic hate for Christmas that pulls at her heart. She sighs, turning the tap on to rinse her face- no means was it to cleanse, but to rather relieve herself of the anxious feeling. She can hear the conversations behind the door, and down the hallway. She can hear the distant mumbling and to make it even worse, a headache decides to pull her into a trance. Before she knows it, she’s been leaning against the sink counter for fifteen minutes. That’s when the knocks on the door and questioning start popping in. With a silent groan and sigh, she takes in a deep breath and turns the knob to meet Robin standing there with a glass of wine.

“Hey, are you okay? Davi-”

She pushes past him quickly, striding down the hallway until she reaches the living room. Essentially, her head is pounding wildly, and she’s not in the mood to celebrate much with laughter and chatting. Hence, she makes her actions with haste as she reaches for her jacket, swinging it around and slipping her arms into the sleeves before David grips her wrist in denial of her sudden need of departure.

“I’m not in the mood, David. Headache and upbeat celebrations don’t mix well,” she mutters, shaking her arm away from him forcefully. 

“Let me drive you,” he offers, “give me a sec.” 

Although her initial reaction is to say no, she figures driving herself back with a headache will get her nowhere, so she stays silent and impatiently waits for him to return. In due time, she’s sitting in the passenger seat, her eyes shut as she tries to close out the painful headache. She’s thinking far too much to her liking, but yet everything starts playing around in her head, refusing to let go. Emma huffs a large breath of frustration, she is furious. One, she just completely walked out on the one day she’s supposed to just hang out with her friends that she calls family, and two, returning back to a dark, empty apartment as if she’s a castaway feels like hell.

There’s a chill in her bones when she quickly says goodbye to David, insisting that he should go home and send her apologies to the rest of the gang. He nods with a disappointed smile, and it kills her even more because this isn’t what they deserve. They don’t deserve a broken, lost girl who hates Christmas, they don’t deserve her company on a day to be merry.

She slams the door shut, ignoring the scream in her body. The first thing she does is take a shower, a quick one to rinse her from her stress. The next is making herself a damned hot chocolate, and then the last is passing out on the couch without the bothered effort of making it to bed. Her headache barely subsides by the time she wakes up in a couple of hours, her mind spinning and her body drained of any energy she previously had- and it was _plenty_ of energy.

Feeling horrible for ditching on the get together, she reaches into her pocket to call Mary Margaret. Without wasting time, she apologizes, trying to deem her worthiness of not fucking up as a friend. Although she can hear the other end full of loud chatter from Robin and Ruby, she can still feel the cold shivers radiating throughout her exhausted body at the sound of a sympathetic, yet hopeful Mary Margaret. “Next time,” Mary Margaret says before they hang up.

 _I ruin the mood for everything_ , she tells herself as she trudges down the hallway and into the bedroom. She doesn’t put much of an effort into changing out of her clothes. A wool sweater and jeans are perfectly comfortable at the moment, and she doesn’t have the strength to go dig out a pair of sweatpants to switch into. 

She drops dead cold onto the bed, passing out from the throbbing pain in her head. So much for Christmas.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Between more court hearings or NY holiday traffic, Killian doesn’t know which is worst. The only thing he’s quite excited about is surprising Emma about his early release, all thanks to David Nolan. He doesn’t know how he’ll ever repay the favour of shortening his dreadful prison sentence, but what he can assure him is that he’ll try his best to keep Emma happy. Everything inside of him is sizzling in anticipation, he can hardly keep himself stoic while in the car with a fellow police officer, who is _oddly_ intimidating.

It’s Christmas day early morning- as in 5AM- and David told him that he would meet him at the station. And he keeps to his word of course, because when he steps out of the card and humbly thanks the escort policeman, David’s impatiently waiting with a rather worried face.

“Change of plans,” David firstly says, ignoring any greetings or formalities. “Emma’s in a bit of trouble, and I think you’re the only one who can fix that.”

“What’s that? Is she okay?” he blurts out, trying to gather more details on the situation. He fears the answer coming more than ever, and that rush of excitement is replaced by a cold feeling of despair and dead hope.

David sighs, telling him to get into the car. He obeys obviously, only fearing for the safety of Emma, and the slow answer that comes from David as he starts up the car and turns to glance at him makes it worst. “She got a headache last night at the get together, and rushed out the door. I gave her a ride home, but she didn’t say a word besides ‘thank you’ and ‘tell them I’m sorry.’ She wanted out of there. Fast.”

Killian groans, running his hand over his face. “Don’t got a sodding clue about what’s gotten into her,” he mutters, his eyes glancing out the window. 

“Yeah, well me neither. Best bet is that you can figure out what happened, because I don’t think she really wants to explain to herself to me,” David says, quickly pulling himself to park to the side of the street. “Do you still have a spare key?”

“No, unfortunately-”

David throws the key at him. “Surprise her. And then talk. Or whatever. Actually, just don’t get too detaily on me, please, there are things that I’d like to keep pure between us,” he rambles on, shaking his head. “No more talking. She’s probably asleep, it’s like six, and I _highly_ doubt she’ll be out of bed if she had a headache for the remainder of the night.”

“Thanks for the help, mate. I really cannot thank you more for everything you’ve done. Saving me that trouble from living in a bloody confinement of a prison for the next seven years.”

David chuckles. “Yeah, well _go_.”

“Aye, will do. I’ll keep in contact,” he quickly comments, rushing into the apartment.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been so swift with his movements before. One moment he’s in the lobby of the apartment building, the next he’s only two steps away from their good old apartment. Nostalgic feelings are all over the place as he fumbles with the key, slipping it into the lock and turning it to the side, hearing that satisfying _click_ of it unlocking. As about he saw a week ago, the same old apartment stands in his view. The neatly sorted bookshelf in the corner of the room, the window sheltered by closed curtains, the TV, the very memorable couch, and then the kitchen to the left, and the hallway of rooms to the right. 

For a moment, he doesn’t know what to do first. He closes the door as quietly as possible, slipping the spare key into his jeans pocket. His clothes reek of old locker smells, he needs a change of attire. Fast.

It takes him an entire minute to practically open the door to his old bedroom. His eyes meet a messy Emma Swan in his bed. It takes way too much effort to try and grab clothes from his closet, because the first thing he sees it his leather jacket, seemingly untouched. He practically tiptoes back into the hallway to the washroom to change, and damn, being stealthy is supposed to be his strong suit, but waking her up is not something he’s willing to risk. It’s six in the morning, he’s pretty relentless and tired, and he just wants to get into bed. With her. Talking comes later.

So, as sneakily as possible, he shifts her over carefully, making sure not to wake her up. Figuring that she’s pretty torn between this claimed headache he knows of, he takes that to his advantage to get into bed before she protests and stirs and does whatever the hell a stubborn lass like her would most likely do. 

It starts with the trembling. It takes him several minutes to calm down, because he simply cannot handle the presence of Emma. That fact he’s safe and alive and out of the bloody torture of a jail. The fact he’s back, and he’s staying for _good_ this time. His bones used to feel hollow all the time, sleeping in a single bed in a tiny cemented room. His eyes used to stare endlessly out the tiny little window at the top of the wall. It used to take him several attempts of getting rest before his body would finally give in to the exhaustion and comply.

And right now, he should be falling asleep with her in his arms again. It’s basically been three weeks since he’s last saw her, touched her, talked to her. He just… needs time to adjust to all of this again. It’s like he’s back in the grace, and he once had been told how grace was weakness. How he’s just a cold-blooded killer following blind orders. He used to feel so bitter and dark, the damned darkness consuming his body and turning him into someone no less than Gold was. And if Emma Swan hadn’t walked in on him any earlier, he probably would have fallen and became a pitiful man with no purpose in life. But she eventually gave him purpose, and he fell head over heels for this woman who didn’t seem to exhibit the near affection he had for her back.

But for some reason back then, he refused to let go of that light. For once he wasn’t shutting someone out, and even though Robin was relatively correct about getting himself into this entire thing, he still doesn’t regret it. Through so many imperfect things he’s done, through so many horrible slaughters and assassinations he’s gone through with, not one second went by where he didn’t somehow feel the guilt in the end. They were still people, people who he killed because he was ordered to, not because he knew there was something bad about them or anything.

Always, he _always_ put his own bloody life on the line with these journeys. Should he have been more careful back then? Probably. But it didn’t stop him from doing his job. Sometimes, he actually wanted to die, to just get his stupid life over with. He didn’t think he would have a purpose to live anymore, now that Liam and Milah were both dead.

And then that part of his head with Liam’s voice and face would show up and scold him for even thinking about ending his life so early on. Liam would have said he was a git, a stupid one to say, for skipping out on his possible second chance. So, he’d give himself another day, to advance forward once more, for the sake of his brothers honor. For the sake of his family.

There comes Emma Swan bursting into his life like some magical explosion or some… other shit.

Changing his life. Flipping it upside down. Bringing him out from the threatening darkness that clouded his best judgement a majority of the time. He didn’t know what he was getting himself into, but apparently, he had no control, and he just kept leading her on anyways.

Now, he’s back, in full control of his life, only to have a lovely woman who he _gods above loves her tenfold_ than anyone else in the world and will do anything for her. 

Bringing himself back to this life he’s living, he just takes in the faint scent of the shampoo in her hair and the warmth of her body pressed against his. He smiles to himself, only knowing that he’s going to have to express all of his happiness to her later and not now. Right now, she’s too busy getting the rest she always deserves. Despite being in jail, he knows, from the bottom of his heart and the punching feeling in his gut, that she’s always doing her best with this new job of hers. He doesn’t know what really triggered her to change to work for the law, but he figures it’s just common sense. Perhaps it’s the career she’s meant for, because well… she’s good at running, chasing, persuading, and everything else required. 

“Who the fuck…” she trails off, her voice groggy from sleep as she turns to see him in bed. She pulls away from him quite forcefully, but it doesn’t even bother him about how she’s reacting. “Woah, woah, woah. This headache is getting the best of me,” she mutters, closing her eyes for a second before blinking a couple more times.

Killian chuckles. “Absolutely not, Swan. I am not a mere image made from this headache of yours. I promise you that I’m real, and I’m here,” he whispers, pulling her back into his arms. “Merry Christmas, darling.”

“Okay… I need some explanations,” she says, her voice showing a clear sense of confusion and some sort of pent up anger.

He furrows his brows, trying to understand the reasoning behind the slight hostility coming from her voice. Perhaps he can reason with her. Somehow. It’s probably a means of picking up her broken puzzle pieces and putting them back together. He runs his hand up and down her arm, noticing her clothing choice. _My Swan_ , he tells himself amusingly, realizing she didn’t even end up changing the previous night before out of her jeans and sweater.

With a sigh escaping him, he decides to evade this conversation until later. “Might I suggest we discuss this _later_? I’m not particularly interested in having you divulge into this entire situation I was in, and I don’t believe you’re awake enough to absorb such information,” he tells Emma. “But I can assure you one thing, love. I’m not going anywhere this time.” 

“I’m too tired to argue against you,” she whispers, her body no longer tense, but rather relaxed. “If you’re still here in another few hours, I’m going to bombard you with questions, so just be prepared for that I guess,” she mumbles, her head pressed against his chest.

Fighting his stupid grin, he sets a kiss on the top of her head, the soft hair against his lips making him feel all the happiness and relief surging through him. “Aye. Well, I have a lot to ask you too,” he murmurs, wrapping his arm around her waist. Because let’s face it, _he_ wonders why she stormed out of there with a sudden headache and lack of words to explain to David her little struggle. And according to the way David explained it, there wasn’t anything there to technically upset her. 

But for now, he’s just going to enjoy this time with her. Just for now.

The next time he wakes up, it’s to the sound of banging on the front door. Emma groans and ends up smacking him on the chest, immediately retracting her arm from his solid body. “Okay, so you are real and not a figment of my imagination. But who the hell is knocking on the door?” she complains, rubbing her face.

He rubs his chest and chuckles, pressing a kiss to the underside of her jaw before climbing out of bed. “I’ll go check, and maybe _that_ will prove to you I am real,” he mutters, opening the bedroom door before he saunters down the hallway to the front door. 

When he pulls the door open, it’s a very eager David Nolan and Mary Margaret standing in front of him. Killian looks like he just had sex, this is not going to turn out so well.

“... oh. Hi, Killian.”

“Milady,” he mumbles, mocking a small bow. “I’m afraid you’ve disrupted a good sleep that both of us were trying to fit in.”

“Sorry. We just- y’know, _Christmas_... and we didn’t want to leave you two out of it. Emma wasn’t answering her phone, and we thought you two would be like… out of bed and-”

David crosses his arms, taking a step forward. “That’s clearly not we were prepared to see. You didn’t… uh, do the do did you?”

“For fucks sake, mate,” he grunts, moving aside as David shuffles in, “what’s wrong with bluntly having to ask ‘did you fuck her?’” Killian questions. “But to answer that, no, we didn’t. Only _sleep_. I can promise you we haven’t done such exhilarating activities yet.”

“Far too much for me to know. Now, where’s Emma?”

“Right here.”

Everyone simultaneously turns to see a Emma Swan who is unamused and looks just about pissed off at everything in the world. Killian shoves back all his laughter, only smiling as he takes two strides to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She shoves him away, her body weight leaning over onto one leg. He stumbles back to the side of the wall, arching an eyebrow at her sudden outburst of her body _legitimately_ omitting rage and confusion.

“I need answers from all of you.”

Killian nudges her shoulder. “Swan, no need to be so hostile.”

“Sorry but not sorry. After all this nonsense that’s like the biggest jumble of craziness I’ve ever been sucked into, I’d like some answers about why,” she points at Killian, “he’s here, and why, “she points at David, “you didn’t mention a single thing about… this entire thing that I’m about one-hundred percent positive you planned.”

“Right, well after I met Killian that one time you were fixing your status together, there was a dumb smile on your face. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d ever see another bright smile of yours like that again, and at that moment I knew that you really did love him.” David sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “And the Thanksgiving thing was one thing, but another was the fact I was reworking on Killian’s case to get him an early release. Killian only knew about it after Thanksgiving, and I told him to never mention it to you if you’d be visiting, since I wanted it to be a surprise. 

“Our plan sort of got foiled when you decided to get your own ass up and out of the Christmas gathering, and that’s what led to him being in your bed today. I just wanted you to have a good Christmas, and I know you’ve never been fond about it and all, but I just wanted to make this one memorable by giving you a worthy present of Killian coming back into your life after being separated for so long.”

The awkward silence grows longer and longer by the second, and Killian starts to get a little bit uncomfortable about the way Emma doesn’t say a single word, she doesn’t even move from where she’s standing. Taking matters into his own hands, he decides to budge in and see if he can shake her out of whatever reverie she’s in.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you earlier, darling, but that would have deprived me of a dashing surprise and present,” he tells her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “We all had our best intentions in this.”

“Killian’s right, Emma,” Mary Margaret intrudes with her own opinion.

He watches her green eyes shift between the three people standing in front of her, but then, her eyes close and he can see the emotions filling up inside of her. She smiles weakly, pulling Killian in for a hug, and he’s surprised at first, but his arms slowly come up around her, returning the embrace.

“I just- thank you,” she whispers.

He breathes a sigh of relief against her neck. “I don’t suppose we could try and reenact a new plan now, can we, Swan?”

“Hey, we could try. My headache is gone, and I still feel bad for fucking this all of this up,” she responds. She pulls back from the hug, and Killian presses a kiss to her cheek. “I mean, we can all go back to your guys’ place, if you’re still up for it.”

“Sure! We’ll see you guys in… let’s say an hour?” Mary Margaret replies, checking the time on her phone.

Emma nods. “Okay.”

"You guys probably need to-"

Mary Margaret whacks David's arm. "David!"

"Sorry, bye." 

Killian and Emma glance at each other as they take their leave out of the apartment (rushing embarrassingly to be specific), and then he's pressing himself against her, kissing her wholly without any restraints of time on them. Wait, they have an hour. 

"I suppose you haven't checked the pocket of the jacket yet," he whispers, brushing a strand of her hair away. "Do you think you'll be ready any time soon? It was technically supposed to be your Christmas present."

"How'd you know?"

"Saw it this morning in my closet. You would have mentioned it by now if you haven't checked it out yet." He presses one more gentle, sweet kiss to her lips before tugging at her arm into the closet. “Perhaps now is the time. In fact, I’m _glad_ you haven’t touched it yet.”

He quickly pulls the jacket out of the closet, shoving his hand into the pocket to pull out a nice velvet box. Killian hands it to her with a smile, and she takes it reluctantly with a skeptical face. Intently, he watches her open the box to find a necklace inside, and as she lifts it out, it doesn’t take her long to notice the swan pendant at the base.

“Killian,” she starts, her thumb running over the swan. “What exactly have you done?”

“Me? Nothing, love. A present to remind you of who you are. It’s quite figurative, aye, but I believed it would be a nice thing to wear around if you’d ever choose to do so,” he explains, scratching behind his ear. “I didn’t have a lot of time to choose it out for you, so I was rushed on my options. And, I didn’t know how you were toward jewlery, hence my hesitance on ever forcing you into taking it out of it’s confines.”

Emma shakes her head. “It’s… beautiful. Like, really.” She looks up at him. “I know why you want me to wear it, but why did you buy it? What’s your reasoning behind it?”

Sheepishly, he glances away and his lips curl into a small smile. “It reminded me of you.” He brings his gaze back to her. “Everything about you. Although you weren’t that graceful when we first met, it still didn’t steer me away from falling for you. So I suppose you could say it’s one of those sentimental, cheesy, memoirs. I know you’re not always sentimental but-”

She breaks him off with a kiss. He grins into it, kissing her back with the same amount of passion and love for her. If only one day he’ll be able to do a lot more with her.

“Thank you. Do you, uh, want the honor?” She holds her hand out with the necklace, and he nods, taking it from her.

Circling around, he brings the necklace around her neck, and clasps it on. Once that’s done, he leans over her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “For the second time, and I hope you won’t physically abuse me… Merry Christmas, darling.” He hugs her tight (sometimes he hates having the damn prosthetic, practically replaces the feeling). These are the days he’s living for, just some simple moments with someone he loves.

He’d be lying if he says he hasn’t considered marrying her. Except he hasn’t really thought it through. His bank account definitely holds enough money to get her a ring and such, except he’s not really fond about buying a new ring. In fact, if he’s to ever get down on his damn knee and propose to her, he’s been thinking of passing something down. Something Emma doesn’t know about. But now that it’s on his mind, he can’t think of a life without her. He can’t think of being separated from her anymore. After two-three weeks of going to court with David and his lawyer, after being freed, the only thing he wants in his life is Emma Swan, so, it’s time for him to plan it out.

Secretly of course. As _discreetly_ as possible. If he was an assassin who could plan a murder, then he can plan a proposal for her at some point. He just needs to wait for the right time.

“Now I feel bad ‘cause I don’t have a gift for you,” she says, leaning back gently into his embrace. 

Killian chuckles. “You are my Christmas present.”

“Holy crap, you’re way too sappy today.”

“And you love it, right?” he mumbles, pushing her onto the bed in a playful manner.

“No,” she seriously responds.

Arching an eyebrow and narrowing his eyes at her, Killian shakes his head with a teasing little smile. He knows _his_ Swan more than anything in the world- even their distance hadn’t been able to break them apart for long. “Liar,” he states.

“Wow, you caught me.” She rolls her eyes, slapping him on the chest. “Congratulations,” she adds on sarcastically.

He feigns offense. “You hurt me, Swan.” 

“We don’t have time for this, Killian. They expect us there in like forty minutes, and we’re acting like ten year olds.”

Scoffing, Killian dips his head down next to hers. “You’d be surprised in what I can do in a shorter period of time, love,” he whispers.

“Get off of me, go shower, and get prepared for an overwhelming Christmas celebration with the others,” she demands, pushing him off.

With a loving smile dancing upon his lips, he nods and gives her a mocking bow. “As you wish.” He retreats out of the bedroom and into the washroom to clean himself up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the end. 2-3 more chapters, including an epilogue.  
> AND I CAN'T WAIT FOR TONIGHT'S EPISODE. <3


	18. Chapter 18

Emma glances around. "Is it me, or does this place look more... decorated than more last night?"

"We'll try not to take offense to that," David murmurs. "But that would be Ruby's doing. She had just a little too much beer last night. She was resistant to the wine, so it was all we could offer her... besides water. Except, Ruby doesn't do water."

"They all gone?" Emma asks, eyeing the presents still sitting under the Christmas tree. 

David shakes his head. "Nope. Crashed in the guest bedroom. Robin had to leave though, an emergency at his bar after one guy couldn't go to work."

Killian arches an eyebrow. "Robin?" 

David nods. "Robin Locksley. Do you know him?"

"Aye, one of my best mates," Killian responds. "How do you know him?"

Emma buds in with a hand up. "That might be because of me."

“Swan,” Killian grunts, turning to her. “Why did you not tell me that you introduced my friend to your friends?”

“Hey, it wasn’t the most important thing that we had to discuss at the moment,” she protests, “and does it really matter?”

“I suppose not,” he mutters, snaking his arm around her waist. 

Instantly, she leans into his touch with a small smile, feeling _happy_ because she’s pretty much reunited with people she cares, and loves. From being the lonely girl she was, roaming the streets of cities, always on the run, she’s found her place in life. With these people around her, David, Ruby, Mary Margaret, Robin and Killian, there’s no one else she’d rather be around on such a holiday. 

Maybe she can make the best of it.

Ruby stumbles down the hallway. Of course, her first idea is eyeing Killian head to toe, not making it subtle at all. “Well, hello there,” she says, taking a seat down on the couch. “Emma, is this _the_ Killian?”

“That I am, m’lady. Killian Jones at your service,” he answers before she can.

“Gentleman? I like it,” Ruby supplies, nudging Emma’s shoulder. “He’s good for you,” she whispers in her ear.

Emma rolls her eyes. “So I’ve heard,” she sasses back.

“Ladies and gentleman, I need your attention!” David exclaims, slipping back into the living room with a big grin across his face. “Wait, Emma when did you wear jewelry?”

“Thank Killian for that,” she responds. “Get back to the point, David. Why did you need our attention?”

“Well…”

“Stop stalling. Get on with it, mate!” Killian urges.

“I- Mary Margaret, come here for a sec.” Mary Margaret eyes all of them for a moment, she stands in front of David. “I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. It’s taken me far too long to build the guts up to ask you this, and I wanted this to be special. In front of our friends, and on the holidays which means everything to you, so I ask you this.” David kneels down on one knee, reaching into his pocket for a box, opening it up with a small ring that has a green emerald in the middle. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” Mary Margaret immediately responds.

Both Emma and Killian sit there quite shocked. In fact, Emma feels like tearing up for her friends accomplishment, for their milestone in their relationship. She feels happy and excited, but on this list of emotions, she doesn’t expect to find- jealousy.

Yeah, she doesn’t expect to find that, but for some reason she feels it anyways. It’s just that she’s never had much things go a good way with her, so when she sees her best friends’ happiness, she can’t help but wonder what her future will turn out to be like. It’s not that she doesn’t think she’ll get her happy ending with Killian, well, not ending... but story. She trusts him. She trusts that he’ll know when it’s right to take the step forward, to make a decision on where to take their relationship. She can’t blame him for this yet, he just got out of a jail for a couple of hours, he needs a break. Time to recuperate and get back to their old traditions and all.

They’re all clapping by the end when they’re kissing each other, Ruby yelling random shit words, and Killian having a smile on his face. She wonders how weird it must be for him though. Like, how is he taking this entire thing in? Being accepted so easily into this new circle of friends, acquaintances, whatever he considers it… it mustn’t be a easy way to fit in yet. Her face goes from a smile to a frown, but she’s quick enough to realize that she can’t ruin the mood, so she forces a tightlipped smile on, as she leans back into the couch, settling down.

Little does she know, she’s going to be in store for a lot of wedding catalogue shopping, dress outings, invitation planning, and so much fucking more. 

But it’s her happiness, who is Emma Swan to ruin her friend's happiness?

/-/-/-/-/-/

Killian notices her different behaviour soon after Dave’s proposal.

He doesn’t question her.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but it’s because he reads her like that open become he claims her to be. He knows what’s on her mind, and it’s not the right time to ask anything, so he keeps up his own pretend play along with her. If she notices him change, he doesn’t care or give a damn. Tonight, he will just enjoy his time with her, even while there’s other things occupying both of their minds.

So, they celebrate the Christmas holiday. All joy and laughter, surrounding him in a way he's never expected before. It's a weird feeling to be around people who care for him and Emma so much, that it can feel both utterly terrifying, yet have an unquestioning sense of safety and relief too. And throughout the entire day, steering toward the evening, his eyes always drift toward Emma who seem slightly detached from everyone else. Albeit his mind wondering of whether to take their leave or not, he only smiles at her and gives her a curt nod just to assure her everything is on her decision. If she wants to leave, he'll follow. If it's staying she wants, then he will stay with her. If there's anything he knows, he doesn't like to pressure her, or any woman, into anything they feel uncomfortable with. 

During dinner, which is outrageously delicious and well prepared, David and Mary Margaret talk wedding stuff, and as usual, his gaze gravitates toward Emma who's sitting next to him. He brings his hand under the table to rest on her thigh, running it up and down to comfort her throughout the conversation. She stops him, taking his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. He sighs inwardly, pressing his lips to her cheek. He notices Ruby glaring at them, but Killian shakes his head at her, and she nods acutely, which he is quite grateful for her understanding.

This time, it's time to go. Usually, they'd drink, but for both of them, they kept away from the alcohol and stuck to water. As they exchange farewells, David murmurs about their behaviour, telling him to comfort Emma, because he knows how much it might make her painful, or jealous. The last thing he expects from her is jealousy, but he can see why. He takes the hint at that.

The car ride consists of a comfortable silence. Unspoken words between the both of them are quite evident, to her and himself. He huffs out a breath as they get out of the car, his mind circling around the entire thought of marriage. He's unsure about starting a conversation about it, so he keeps his mouth shut until she decides it's time to speak of such words. In the elevator, she leans herself against him with an exhausted sigh, and he slips his arm around her waist, letting himself be a nice pillar of support for her. His lips find her head, the soft feeling of her hair, the smell of her shampoo still lingering around. 

In bed, her name falls from his lips silently as she sleeps peacefully next to him. He brushes her hair away from her face, her hair tumbling past her shoulders in a wonderful heap of blonde light curls. Even in the dark of the room, he can still see her beauty past the obstacles of lighting. He mumbles words of adoration to her, being mindful of the volume of his voice. Eventually, he grows tired enough to fall asleep too.

It's the first official night he gets to spend with her in his arms again. They're growing in process, letting each other back into their lives through simple actions and undeclared vows. 

But, even with him here, there are still things that bother her. His eyes crack open as he hears faint whimpering from the opposite side of the bed. Quickly, he flips over and shakes her shoulder gently, whispering her name in a desperation of waking her up. Slowly, she responds, and he doesn't say anything. He let's her burrow herself into his arms more, nuzzling her head into his chest. "I had a dream I lost you again," she says, the sound of fear flowing through the words as she wraps her arms around him.

"I promise that won't happen again." It's enough to cast the both into sleep again, even though he's not completely in slumber. His senses are tingling by the time he realizes that time is flying by. The had returned at midnight, but now it was the dead of the morning, 6AM showing on the clock. 

He sighs, pulling her closely to mold against his body. Her body radiating warmth that never fails to comfort him, her face finally free of anxiety and worry, her breathing perfectly spread apart. It's just one of those nights, one of those where he just wants to watch her for endless hours in her calmest state. With their legs tangled, his arm that he rid of the prosthetic before they slept at the side of the table wrapped around her, and his other hand raking through his hair a numerous amount of times, he feels good. However, he's not really adjusted still, his life still not balanced between the habits of jail time, and then the life outside of the solid, hope-killing walls. But, nothing compares to this odd sensation that make him shiver in all ways. Nothing compares to this wonderful freedom after several weeks of determination of a sweet escape from prison.

By later on in the morning, she wakes up groggily. She opens her eyes to look at him, and he smiles, kissing her forehead. Sometime, she does wonders with glaring him son until he says something. So, he admits to barely sleeping. Obviously, she inquires why, and Killian answers calmly and honestly about his reasoning. It satisfies her, but she tells him to sleep. Though a tempting offer, he refuses and says he'll be fine. No matter how many times she tries to persuade him, he pushes her a step back. 

For the first time though, she helps him place his prosthetic hand on for him. He teaches her how. She catches on easily, and he mumbles words of endearment in her ear, which makes her cheek flush a soft shade of pink, and makes him grin like an uncontrollable idiot. Sometimes, he still feels pain from a missing hand, and she tends to it. His face burning in pain over a body part that no longer lives hurts a lot more than expected, but luckily, the pain starts to ease over time. And sometimes- all the time actually- he feels as if he's burdening her with his own problems, even when he's aware she doesn't care, and loves him for who he is.

Showering, even through the three years he's had in jail, has not prepared him well for the better thing. He struggles a little bit, but it seems like Emma is very observant- it may be the string of curses that topple out of his mouth and walks in offering to help. He gives into defeat and nods, waiting for her to strip her clothes and get in with him. It's torturous, but then he can't help but wonder how much this woman is a bloody goddess, treating him with so much respect that honestly makes him wonder about his own self. I'd difficult to keep his hand off of her, trailing down her waist. He leans in, resting his chin on Emma's shoulder as they stand quietly under the showerhead. Their bodies slick and wet against each other, he presses kisses down her neck and shoulder. "I love you. I love you," he whispers, just enough over the sound of splattering water.

The next time they shower, it's separately. 

They argued over marriage.

It's a pain in his arse. He had snapped at her, saying about how he wants to marry her, but is waiting for the right moment when in all honestly, he's just frightened of denial and uncertainty. She doesn't know that though. 

The next time they sleep, it's separately.

She's up making hot chocolate, waiting for it in the microwave. He leans against the counter, watching her slow, hesitant movements around the kitchen. She wraps her arms around herself; he notices her fingers tighten against her arms. He sighs and shakes his head, muttering words of apologies, but she retaliates and says it was her fault for getting angry over something dumb. He assures her it was never her fault, gives her a kiss on the head, and roams off down the hall to his room. They don't talk for the rest of the night, and it's slowly ripping him apart at the fucking distance between them.

The next couple of days leaves him in an empty apartment, Emma out working late hours. He spend his time on the rum he bought earlier. When she returns, she's fuming of anger at him, and he's sober enough to see how she's exhausted from work, only to come home and see her boyfriend turn back into an alcoholic. He apologizes again, but she shakes her head out of shame, helps him get to bed, and presses a bitter kiss to his lips. He hates it. When she's out of his room, hearing the faint click of his door shut, he throws his head back and groans loudly, pissing his own self off.

Nothing changes, at least not until he gets tired of this bullshit of an excuse of being afraid. He confronts her the next morning and says everything from "I was a bloody moron," all the way to, "You reserve the right to be angry at me, and I can't stop you at that. Hit me, do whatever, but please don't be angry and leave me." He tells her his fear, and he can't even rip his gaze away from the floor to look at her in the eyes. He doesn't find that usual bravery inside of him, because this woman makes him crumble weak on his knees.

Her hands fumble with the necklace as she listens to him ramble, and when he's finally done talking, he doesn't get the time to register her lips on his. He groans softly, his hand cradling the side of her head, her hair slipping between her fingers. "Don't be sorry," she says as they pull apart, resting their foreheads against each other. "I get it. You were scared, and I won't hold you up against that. I trust you'll know when we're both ready," Emma adds on.

They stop being distant. Things go back to normal, slowly but surely. Killian searches for his mother's old ring, finding it in the back of his closet. Memories flood him, but he smiles to himself as he looks at in. Clamping the box closed, he stuffs it back and sighs. He knows when he'll propose- he thinks.

Wedding planning is horrid, painful, and wears out his body just as much as Emma's. David and Mary Margaret are like some gods at this damn thing, so he and Emma sits back and watches all the magic happen. On nights where he's home and watching TV, she slumps down next to him and complains about having to endure everything with overly ecstatic women. He can't help but laugh, and then offer her something to eat before she gets hostile on him. He know better than to deal with a grumpy Emma Swan.

On nights where he comes home after a day of suit fitting, she laughs at him and massages his burning shoulders.

But on nights where they both get home in a heap of stress, they fuck until they drop, just enough for both of them to go over the edge and pass out after a days hard work and endurance. Even through frustrated, raging sex, it's enough to make the both of of them speechless. ( _"Why do we keep doing this?" she asks, her voice like air. "Because we're unbelievably phenomenal at having satisfying sex?" he answers as a question. "I learned from the best."_ ) And then when they wake up, body still aching, they encourage each other to get out of bed, otherwise there will be no more good fucking after a days work. It always seems to work, and he definitely persuades her faster with his charm. She never admits that though.

And then, as months pass with busy assistance, it's the day before the wedding. Killian's never been more nervous to be David's best man in his life, and when David first proposed him, he was just about shocked as anyone else. Thanks the gods that Emma is the maid of honour, otherwise he'd probably lose his mind standing up there next to the groom.

Last minute preparations here and there are being done as he's out with David, Robin, and this Graham fellow. Being unintentionally perceptive- it’s natural- he notices the look Graham gives Emma at one point, and when they both get home, he asks her about it. All she can really explain is that they work 'together' and that he once asked her out, but she denied it. He doesn't need to ask why, because he knows quite well her reason. He still needs to take her out on a date too, a _proper_ one to say the least.

Wedding day contains all the hype it ever needs. A lot of formal introductions, talks, toasts, and so much more. But when the wedding, wedding part commences everything settles down, people taking their seats, everyone in place and so on so forth. They hear the music start playing, and that’s the cue for everyone- bridesmaids, groomsmen, etc- to start walking in an orderly fashion. Killian offers his arm for Emma, and she smiles taking it without a second thought. Being the best man and maid of honor sort of is… intriguing and wild. Especially under the circumstances in the way that all met, being in jail and all. But David treats Emma like his younger sister, making sure she gets the best, that she’s happy, and David sees Killian in that picture. And for that, he will be forever in debt to David for his amazingly good deeds. 

Fitted in a three piece black and blue suit himself (along with every other man in this line), with Emma and the other women in a light blue dress, he’s never expected attending a wedding. Let alone the man who practically _broke_ him out of jail.

“Ready, love?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she answers softly, taking a step forward. “I can’t wait to be out of this dress though,” she mutters.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Despite what you think, I think you cut quite the figure in this dress,” he tells hers.

It doesn’t take long until the two of them walk out down the middle of the aisle, all eyes focused on them. Killian takes his position beside David, and the entire ceremony continues.

He’s pretty sure by the end of the ceremony, there’s not one single dry eye in the room. Including himself. And Emma. Surprising, isn’t it? He definitely surprises himself, even though it’s one bloody tear that dries before anyone notices. But, of course as the newlyweds exit, they follow shortly behind, and everyone’s either crying of happy tears of joy for them, screaming some rather interesting things, or staying silent and just following behind them. 

“You know, it’ll be us one day, love, I assure you that,” he says as he takes a sip out of his wine. “Though probably not as extravagant as theirs has been prepared.” He whirls his glass around. “Unless… they get involved.”

“I heard that,” David exclaims, hitting his arm. “Just when are you gonna do it?”

“Shall I bring back the words you once told me? Ah, yes, when the time is _right_ ,” Killian teases, leaning against the counter.

Emma steps forward, tilting her glass. “I gotta agree with him there. It’s all about appropriate timing.”

“You two are like a combined force. Whoever messes with you is bound to find trouble,” David mutters, glancing over at Mary Margaret who’s chatting away with Ruby.

Killian shrugs nonchalantly, grinning as his eyes turn to Emma who also seems to be smiling. “What can I say? We make quite the team,” he says, bringing back good old memories. And bad. Not that bad though. They are standing here with the honour of being the best man and maid of honour.

“Since the beginning,” she supplies.

David crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes at the two of them as if they’re targets of his own missions of some sort. “Right. I forgot you two were basically against the law back then,” he claims.

“Well… we weren’t exactly _against_ the law.”

“Survival,” Killian bluntly puts it as.

“Yeah. They were means of survival, David. We didn’t hold resentment to any authority, we were just… sort of doing illegal activities,” Emma argues her point. “Plus, I sort of work for the law now, and you were the one who thought I was perfect for the job when you first interviewed me and all. Do I need to bring back all the compliments you gave me? It’s actually really funny now that I recall them.”

Killian puts his glass in his prosthetic hand, slipping his now free arm around her shoulders. “Swan, I bet you Dave wants to keep that buried in his past. Particularly because he wouldn’t want you to embarrass him in front of his wife,” he reasons.

“Wait, you’re on his side now?” Emma pouts.

“I’m on my side, love,” he protests, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Though if I had to choose at this particular moment, I’d say, aye, I am. He did get my bloody arse out of jail, so I think you owe it to him to be grateful and not humiliate him.”

“If you know what’s best, Emma, you better listen to your boyfriend here.”

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Fine, fine.” She drinks her red wine. “Just so you know, I was kidding anyways.”

/-/-/-/-/-/

**ONE YEAR LATER**

Time passes fast. At least this time around, they don’t mind this because they’re still happily living together. They still have stupid arguments obviously, but there are ways to make it up. A lot of the times, the words exchanged are never really meant to be harmful. It just comes out of either of their mouths in an attempt to let out anger, and then they practically laugh it off, or sort it out later.

Killian gets a job at The Rabbit Hole, working shifts in and between according to Robin. Emma continues her bail bonds job. To be quite honest, they don’t see each other as often as they’d like. He might work a late night shift, or she might be off chasing a guy who skipped bail. However, when they do have time together, they make it work. They do whatever they want (haha, maybe a little courting on Killian’s part).

But tonight is their night, their date night. Their first _real_ official date. Dressed to impress, a nice restaurant, and then a calm walk in the park.

It’s the timing of their schedules which never let them have a proper date in the first place. David and Mary Margaret’s wedding was barely a date anyways. _This_ is to make up for the lost time. In fact, there’s a lot more to this night than she’s probably going to expect herself. And of course, he’s completely speechless when she comes out in a elegant, red dress, fitting her quite well. She needs to wear red more often in his own opinion.

He does the entire gentleman act. Thank the gods he finally gets back into driving, even if he’s still sort of uncomfortable with it. His missing hand is part of his life now- though a loss, it’s also sort of signifies his survival through all the pain he’s been through. Every day with Emma has made him happier than any other man in the world, at least to him. 

The dinner goes by quickly, and they split the bill.

“I like giving the woman an option,” he says, taking the last sip out of his rum. “Unlike most men who insist on paying for everything, I’m different.”

“Yeah, you don’t say?” she sarcastically remarks, kicking his foot under the table. “Great food here. You made a good decision to come here, Jones.”

He chuckles. “Well, I’ve got a good taste in food, love. Oh, and back to Jones now, are we?”

“I call you whatever I want. I’m in a free country,” she tells him, standing up and grabbing her small purse. “Now, let’s go home.”

“Ah, not so fast, darling. There’s one more part of our lovely date,” he protests, getting off his seat and slipping into his new leather jacket. “You didn’t really think I would just invite you for a dinner and we’d be done, did you? Bad form in underestimating.”

She squints her eyes at him. “I’m not fond of surprises,” she mutters.

Placing his hand on her back, he starts to guide her out of the restaurant. “Aye, I can tell. I suppose you’re going to have to get used to them if you’re with me,” he teases, letting his hand rest on her waist. “We,” he begins, “are taking a walk. We’ll come back to the car later.”

“A walk? In New York? Okay, you’ve got me interested in what you have in plan.”

“Who says there’s anything more than the walk, Swan?” 

“You told me not to underestimate,” she repeats his words differently. “ _This_ is me not underestimating your date planning abilities, I know there’s something more to this.”

“Perceptive,” he murmurs, his eyes darting toward the not-so-distant park. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

As they walk, his mind is focused on one thing. Although they’ve never really bonded through dates, anything else they’ve experienced together is something worthwhile to know. Each thing they’ve done together has a spot in his heart. Every feeling he has for her is quite genuine. He’s let her into his life, and his into hers, and there’s nothing more of a satisfying feeling with having Emma by his side all the time. He feels safer, like _home_ , and being in jail taught him one thing. He really missed his home.

Now, back together, walking through the public park in New York, it’s actually relatively empty. But, as expected, the view is quite nice, the trees rustling, the sound of distant water running, very little small talks of chatter heard. She leans into him, as he tightens his arm around her, enveloping her scent. To be honest, he’s the most elated he’s ever been in his life. After Milah, he didn’t think he’d be able to let her go, to move on, to be a better man. So he chose the darkness. But for some reason, just having Emma Swan, petty thief, barge into that mansion and nearly ruin his plans instantly made him feel a magnetic attraction toward her, regardless of the amount he could see.

The thing sitting in his jacket pocket, just waiting to be taken out makes him extremely nervous. Abruptly, he stops walking, and so does she. Obviously, she looks at him, narrowing her eyes in confusion, her head jerking to the side in unison to him taking in a deep breath to calm his jittering nerves.

She takes his hand, intertwining their fingers, and he gives her a smile, though he realizes it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Killian, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, love.” He uses his other hand to scratch behind his ear, and she’s already onto him. It’s a nervous tick she’s apparently discovered. “I have something to ask of you, however.”

“What is it?”

Taking his hand away from her, he reaches into his pocket swiftly, pulling out the navy blue velvet box. Of course his gaze sweeps up to her face, her green eyes sparkling with more life than he’s seen in forever. For the slightest moment, he just wants to run away because he doesn’t know what she’ll say, but he gets down on one knee, opening the box anyway.

His tongue darts out for a second, licking his lips as he sighs of contentment, letting himself calm down. “I don’t intend to spend a single day away from you anymore, love. I don’t believe either of us should be separated, and I understand this is our first official date, but that means it’s also going to be the most memorable- I wanted this to become our greatest memory of all. I love you, Emma Swan. You’ve captured my heart from the very beginning, and I’d like for us to spend the rest of our lives together. You’re like the sail to my ship, the melody to my harmony, the light to my dark. Maybe I’m selfish for wanting this now, but I don’t give a bloody damn. I’ll always love you anyways. Will you do me a favour and marry me?” 

Searching her eyes, he can see she wants to say something, but she’s oddly stuck in position, a bit too starstruck. This time, his grins like a fool. “Are you going to answer me? If you don’t I’ll take it as a hint that it’s not-”

She pulls him up, and kisses him like it’s going to be the end of the world. He groans slightly, his hand still tight on the box which contains his mother’s ring. When they pull apart, they stay silent for a bit. “Yeah, I will marry you. Cheesy speech, but I loved it,” she murmurs. “Definitely memorable. Maybe I’ll also be more tolerable to your surprises.”

Brushing his lips across her forehead, he pulls back, taking the ring out of the box. She extends her hand out for him, and the entire time he takes that ring and slips it on, he can’t stop smiling. “It was my mother’s ring. The only thing I really had left of my family, and figured it was fitting to give to the love my life,” he whispers, looking down at the small blue diamond in the middle.

“Oh god, everything you’re saying is extremely cheesy,” she mutters, pulling him in. 

He lets out a breathy chuckle, stuffing the box back into his pocket, before bringing his gaze back up to hers. “Loving you was never a mistake.”

Pressing her forehead against his, she sighs. “Yeah. Same goes with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be prepared for the epilogue. It's not long, but I think it'll get the point out. I've already started writing a new fic.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Maybe a tissue is required? (It's a short epilogue, so...)

**MANY YEARS LATER (Like, a lot)**

After so much pain and suffering on their part, they grew. They still grow in fact, at least while they can still last. 

Killian and Emma have two children. Liam David Jones, and Henry James Jones. Both of them are spectacular children. Loyal, responsible, and most of all, happy. And that’s all Killian and Emma want for their children. Happiness.

Except, it might be awhile before they can all smile again.

Liam is 24, Henry is 21. 

Emma was 29 and Killian was 31 when they first had Liam. Then shortly of three years time, they had Henry. Both of them were a handful to deal with. Bloody difficult lads to deal with each and every night. But they managed, and Killian’s never been happier to have two loving sons.

And even though their age is growing, they’re becoming big boys, sometimes they need to cry too. They need to let out their emotions as well. And through the most unfortunate of accidents, this one goes for Emma.

It’s been three weeks of dreaded visits from friends all over.

Hearing over the phone that Emma had gotten into an accident through work devastated him the moment he picked that device up. The moment he rushed into the hospital, refusing to let anything stop him made it even worse. They wouldn’t let him in, they wouldn’t let him see her at least once before they were to start surgery. Even after surgery, even though he saw her, he broke down into a endless stream of tears seeing her so pale, yet barely alive.

Now, now he’s sitting here with head forehead resting on the hand he’s holding. So cold.

A good twenty-four years of marriage, everything going their way for once in both of their lives to be taken away because of a bloody accident from her damned bail skipper. Yet, today is a day that’s ever worse, something that makes the pain burn under his skin. Something that makes his head spin in circles, making him want to give up at the same time.

It’s her birthday. October 22nd.

Her birthday is the day she’s going to go.

He’s pretty sure he’s been clenching his jaw for ten hours straight now, ever since that clocked ticked to midnight. When she wakes up, it’s a weak smile appearing on her face, and he shakes his head, wishing there to be something to save her. But nothing can save her now. It’s just the day she’s going to go, a day he’s never going to forget for the eternity of his life. Sighing, he squeezes her hand gently, huffing out a shaky breath. He tries to smile, he _tries_ but he can’t, not matter how hard he wants to do so much for her, to say something more, his eyes shut and his lips quiver in fear of seeing her go.

“Hey,” she says weakly, her elegant voice that used to be full of passion only to be the weakness of him now. “It’s alright, Killian…”

“They’re going to be here soon,” he mutters, ignoring her statement.

She only sighs and nods.

Within an hour, everyone is in the room. Henry, Liam, David, Mary Margaret, Graham, Will, Robin, Regina, Elsa, and Anna. All of their friends, new and old, come to visit her to say their final farewells. But then there’s Killian who can’t stand seeing everyone, so he politely takes his leave to wait outside. Plopping down on the chair, he shakes his head, raking a frustrated hand through his hair.

Maybe he feels like it’s been a couple of minutes, but it’s been far more than that. They say her lungs are not going to recover, and that a transplant will not last for very long anyways. The very thought of the doctor breaking the news to him makes him want to bash something. Anything.

Every few minutes, he can feels his eyes well up with tears, but he pushes them back anyways. When Liam and Henry walk out of the room, both of them also crying, Killian shakes his head, saying how much he’ll miss her. How much they’ll all miss her. Sending her off like this, it’s now how he expected her to pass. It’s now where he’s expected to say his goodbye. And even though he thought there was hope to save her, in the end it just wasn’t enough.

“Dad, we’re going to go. We’ll be there at your place for the next week, so when you’re ready… you can come home,” Henry says, looking at Liam. “Just… call us when she’s _gone_ , and then we’ll be preparing.”

“Aye,” he whispers, “I will.”

“We love you,” Liam says.

“So do I, lads, so do I,” Killian mumbles, giving them each a hug. 

It doesn’t take long for everyone else to file out behind his two strong sons. In the end, it’s just Killian and Emma again. He shoves the door open, putting up the best smile he can, just to give her what she wants. Her body so weak, limp, motionless, laying there with a small smile of sadness which makes him want to cry all over again.

They just stay there silently. It’s mostly his fault because he doesn’t know what else to say to her. He doesn’t want to say goodbye to his one true love, the woman who’s loved him as unconditionally as he has. He doesn’t want to say goodbye to his stubborn wife. But he needs to, before it’s too late. Before he regrets everything he’s ever done by not saying anything to her as a goodbye.

“You know how much I’ll be missing you, love?” he says, his thumb stroking her forehand. “So much to the point I won’t know what to do anymore. We went through a lot as a team, even though we screamed at each other at some points. We had great memories, like the day I had been a sappy arse and proposed to you on our first real date with that overwhelming cheesy speech,” he explains through the tears brimming at his eyes. “Darling, when our sons have children, I’m going to tell them all about their splendid grandmother who would make me laugh, and cry.” He brushes his thumb over her cheek, taking note of her blonde hair that used to be bright, which is now more neutral and empty of vibrancy. “I’ll tell them all about how you’d make me angry and then I’d make hot chocolate to make it up for you, too.”

“You make me happy, Killian,” she says softly, a stray tear slipping down her cheek. He wipes it away, licking his lips at the emotional view. “I’ll always be with you. You were the one man to get through to me, the one I had only trusted,” she mumbles.

The beeps start to become inconsistent, they become slower. 

“I love you, Killian,” she finally says. “I’m scared of going.”

“Aye, I’m scared too,” he whispers, leaning forward to press a final kiss to her lips. “I love you, too, Emma. Farewell, my love. Wait for me, and I shall tell you all about our family soon.”

The doctor knocks and walks in right when Emma passes, and Killian can no longer hold the tears inside. For the next while, he just sits there. He brushes strands of her hair away, exhaling large breaths to try and calm himself. He calls Henry, telling them she’s gone, and he hears them break down through the phone. Afterwards, he just lays with Emma through the day. The nurses insist for him to leave, that they need to take her away, but he doesn’t. Not yet.

As the sun sets, he looks out the window where a faint light of auburn shines through, warming his skin. “Happy birthday, love. Just wait for me, and I’ll be with you soon,” he whispers one last time, pressing a final kiss to her forehead as tears drop.

When he returns home, Liam and Henry greet him with a hug, and he of course returns them. Tightly.

In his bedroom, the one that still holds so many memories, he stares out the window that overviews the city. He smiles sadly, shaking his head at all the happiness he can still feel surge through him. Although she’s gone, he can still feel her presence standing beside him. 

He doesn’t know how long he just watches the darkness of the sky come up for the night, but he does get interrupted by Liam walking in with a mug of hot chocolate. “You want to go too, don’t you father?”

Should he be ashamed for his answer? No, all he is doing is being honest and realistic. “I do,” Killian admits. “But I will carry her love and memory on for as long as I last,” he says, taking the mug from him. “Hope is all I need, son. I shall see her soon.” He glances at the picture of their family hanging on the wall in his, _their_ , bedroom. 

Fifteen years later, Killian departs as well, leaving behind all his wonderful memories with his family which is now growing past their grandchildren.

And when he passes, all he knows is that he sees Emma. Their paths meet _again_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for being on this ride. I actually cried a bit while writing this epilogue. I wanted to have them leave at some point, and it was hard to choose which one would go first. Either way, I shattered hearts everywhere. I put my friends into an emotional turmoil- which I’m actually not sorry for. Once again, I appreciated every comment, kudos, and bookmark. This has been the longest story I’ve written, and there’s only more ahead of me. Don’t be scared to ever approach me on Tumblr or in the comments with a prompt. Otherwise, farewell, I shall be preparing and arranging the next fic.


End file.
